Calverville Point, South Dakota
by sarramaks
Summary: Case fic with a little HP sauce. The team face two cases in Calverville Point: high school girls are being abducted and murdered, and men are going missing. Can the team find the killers before the body count rises? Whole team focus. Last chp up 15 Dec
1. Chapter 1

_This is my first Criminal Minds fic, so I hope it is okay! The location of 'Calverville Point' is fictional, and is not meant to bear any resemblance to a real town. However, the Black Hills in South Dakota are real, as are certain other places mentioned. I haven't been there, so I'm going off internet research and a little imagination - I don't intend to offend anyone! I also aologise for any Englishisms!_

_I don't own Criminal Minds and its characters. I'm just toying with them!_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'All the things one has forgotten scream for help in dreams.' – Elias Canetti

Chapter 1

The sky was black and starless. Somewhere in the distance he could make out the rugged form of the Black Hills, their silhouettes painted darker than the sky. He could hear his own footsteps echoing as he walked down the road; no one else was awake, everywhere had gone to sleep. Even the wind had stopped its gentle, whispered lullaby. The silence was enjoyable after the din of the bar, an old, outdated juke box playing tinny tracks from two decades before and the croaking voices of old men littering the evening. It hadn't been the best bar in the world, but the beer had been cold and the barmaid pretty. Enough to help him forget a little. It was only one night though; one night in the rest of his life.

The mountains looked awesome even at night. The imposing height of Harney Peak beckoned to him, like a bad man promising sweets and pet rabbits. Tomorrow would be a hard climb, but the views and the exhilaration of it would be a suitable prize.

He could taste the remains of whisky still on his lips. He liked to end the evening with a chaser, just as his father had done, and his grandfather. A family tradition, or that was his excuse. It helped to numb any pain he still felt and proved to be a soporific. The engine of a car purred in the distance, driving from the direction where he had spent the evening and shattering his silence. It came to a stop next to him and the window slid down, revealing the driver.

"You need a ride?"

He looked at the driver and smiled; the same smile that had captivated his wife, and began the downfall of his marriage.

"A ride would be good." He opened the door and slid in to the warmth. A ride would be more than good; it would be terrific.

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The curtains were a fraction open, just enough to allow a stream of streetlight to laser onto her face. Emily Prentiss opened one eye and looked at the clock next to her bed.

2:40am.

This wasn't good. She turned over and pulled the duvet over her head, blocking out the beam of light, convincing herself that the noise she had been woken by was _not_ her cell phone, and she had simply been dreaming about it ringing.

The noise began again: _Mr Lover Man_, Shabba Ranks. Morgan's idea of a joke.

Emily reached for her cell, knocking off a glass of water that was next to her cell as she tried keeping the duvet over her head. It could just be a mistake. Morgan could've sat on his phone and dialled her by accident. Twice.

"Prentiss," she answered, her voice sounding dry and tired. She hoped this wasn't bad.

"You want me to pick you up?" were the only words she understood. Morgan sounded far too awake. Maybe he hadn't even slept. She mumbled something incoherent and heard him laugh quietly. "I'll be there in twenty."

Groaning, she pushed back the duvet, the jet of light hitting her in the eyes and she stumbled over to the window and pulled the curtains together fiercely. She immediately regretted her actions. The blackout curtains did their job well, and with no light she walked into the corner of her bed and cursed loudly. Another bruise to add to the collection. It was why skirts were a bad idea; her legs were usually painted in a myriad of blues, not the most attractive of looks.

The shower went some way to reviving her, the feel of hot water stimulating her senses that had been deadened by sleep. They had only returned from an investigation yesterday, coming back to find a new pile of cases to add to the ones that had accumulated before they'd left. As she'd closed her eyes somewhere around 10pm, she'd been aware that an early wake-up call was likely, just not _this_ early.

Her hair was dry and make-up had been applied by the time Morgan arrived ten minutes later than he'd anticipated. He showed no signs of the gruelling case they'd just worked; fatigue was something that just didn't apply to him.

"Sorry I'm late," he said. "It took longer to get there than I thought it would."

Emily nodded and rolled her eyes at Morgan's antics. "So how was your honey?" It was as well to try and get a little teasing in before the darker side of humanity seeped into their bloodstreams.

"She was an old friend. Someone to call on in an hour of need. You could do with one of those yourself." Morgan leant against the kitchen worktop as Emily grabbed her purse and suit jacket.

She raised her eyebrows at Morgan's serious face and picked up her keys, grabbing the suitcase she'd rapidly packed. They'd been no time to unpack her away bag from the last case, let alone do any laundry.

"Seriously, Prentiss. After a tough case, I give her a call and we..." he struggled to find a suitable euphemism.

"Service each other's needs?" Emily offered. "That's not my bag, Derek. I don't do no strings sex. Too complicated." An oxymoron she knew, but it was. No strings sex meant that at some point someone would develop feelings that created strings

"Maybe I could prove to you otherwise?"

"Keep dreaming, Derek," she said, as Morgan grinned. He'd tried this before, jovial flirting, attempting to get a rise out of her. If she ever reacted positively, he'd run a mile.

"Always dreaming, Prentiss. Always about you."

Emily locked the door behind them. Three locks, three keys. It was not easy to break in, which was the way she liked it. "Who called you?" she said, curious as to whether JJ had worked late. She hoped not. JJ had looked tired enough by the time they'd landed yesterday.

"Hotch. He was going to pick you up, but I figured if I offered you'd get longer to wake up,"

"Any idea what the case is?" she said,

Morgan shrugged. "Hotch didn't say. I don't think he's been home, though. JJ passed him a couple of files and he was looking through them when I left. "

"The man doesn't sleep. If I had more of an imagination, I'd swear he was a vampire." The elevator doors opened and she took a last glance of her apartment door for what could be several days.

"He's got nothing to go home to. What do you do when you only thing you have left is work – you throw yourself into it," Morgan said. "You want to tell him he needs a life outside the BAU? I don't. I like my job."

"Maybe you should give him some advice about having _his _needs serviced," Emily said as the elevator journey ended and Morgan lost the slight tension that had crept into his features.

Morgan looked at her and laughed.

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There was a certain serenity to the office and bull pen at night that Aaron Hotchner had found he enjoyed. Gone were days when he had rushed to file away the cases, physically and mentally, then run home to a wife he had failed and all the hearache that had gone with that particular failure.

Now that home was gone, so was the deadline for leaving the building, and the BAU had begun to feel like a school after the pupils had left, resuming a calmness that was palpable, a calmness that wrapped him gently as he attempted to understand and predict the minds of killers and rapists. He was safe after everyone had gone home; the only person he had to protect was himself.

Hotch walked around the conference table, placing down two files in front of each seat, the expression on his face tight and grim. They had only just returned from helping the Baltimore PD catch a serial who had being preying on 12 and 13 year old girls, and he had hoped for a few days grace where they could return to the more academic aspect of their specialism. But it wasn't to be.

He sat at the head of the table and began to look through the first file. Photographs of crime scenes sat on top, the same ritual defacing each body that took the centre stage: the prima donna of the show a star never to be forgotten.

Hotch closed the file and looked at the blank wall in front of him, needing to see nothing for a few minutes. He focused on his breath, the feeling of being in control of his life. When he was a small boy he had practised holding his breath until he passed out, each time managing longer and longer until he was a master at not breathing, a master at controlling.

Footfalls echoed down the hallway, their resonance familiar. Sharp clicks of stiletto heels. JJ entered; her face unsmiling. She looked pristine apart from the wet mark on her shoulder.

"Henry?" Hotch said, his eyes on the stain. It was familiar, a reminder of a better time, a time that had passed by too quickly. _You only ever get one weekend with your three week old son._

JJ nodded, elbows on the table as she sat down, her head resting on one hand. Her finger grazed the corners of the file, not wanting to open the Pandora's box. "He's running a temp. Probably starting with a cold."

"Have you had any sleep?" JJ looked tired; there were dark circles under hers that were usually absent. Then he remembered that it wasn't close to 4am, and they should all be sleeping. Including him.

"A couple of hours. Will tried to get me to sleep, but I wanted to look after Henry," she paused, still toying with the corners of the file. "Does this case involve children?"

Hotch shook his head. "Not young ones. High school juniors and men in their twenties and thirties."

The blonde head looked up. "Two cases?"

"Unfortunately. I'll go through it when the others get here."

JJ stood up, looking pale, and pushed the chair away from her. "I'll make coffee." She needed to leave the file for as long as possible.

Hotch wondered whether to send her home and deal with the media liaison himself, but he knew that even offering her the choice would offend. Instead he pulled out his cell and made a call, a call he wished he could've made to Haley at some point in their history, knowing it would have be appreciated.

"Hotch, what've we got?" Rossi entered as Hotch finished the call.

"The file's on the table."

Reid, Prentiss and Morgan filed in together, followed by JJ carrying a tray with coffee. They all sat, silence falling as they took the coffee.

"We've got two cases?" Morgan said. Any humour, any banter, had evaporated. Thoughts of bed and of tiredness had been chased away by the sobriety of the room and by the case files sat there, waiting like a childhood monster to grab them from their sweet dreams and launch them into living nightmares. Nightmares that were real, nightmares where the monsters weren't killed by a bedside lamp or a mother's voice.

"Two separate cases in the same town. Calverville Point, South Dakota," Hotch said, opening the file on top. "The first case is our priority. Four high school junior girls have been abducted and murdered over the last eight months. Their remains have been found between four and six weeks after their abduction on popular hiking routes between Calverville Point and Harney Peak. The last girl was found three days ago and the detective in charge has asked for our help. The pattern is that another girl is taken around two weeks after the remains of the last one have been found.

"He's also asked us to help on a second case where six men in past eighteen months have gone missing in the area. No remains have been found, but the latest man is the son of the town's mayor. I told him that the girls would be our priority, but we would do what we can to help. It may mean splitting into two groups depending on the severity of the second case when we look into it further.

"All the information I've been given so far is in these files. It's a two hour thirty flight so I suggest you get as familiar with it as you can in that time. Wheels up in twenty." He stood up, taking his files and retreated to his office, closing the door behind him.

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Emily looked around the room. All eyes were on the files; the photos of the girls before and after their abduction and murder; the details of the victims – their ages, families, friends. Morgan's expression was stoic, but his eyes were determined. Rossi looked interested; he had seen enough to not be shocked, the benefit of experience, or maybe the cost of it. Reid was ingesting the facts, his mind tying laces together that no one else had realised were there yet. Emily could see his eyes flickering as he read at the speed of knots, his natural emotional detachment blocking the shots to the chest that JJ was clearly feeling.

"Jayje?" A familiar drawl came from the door that no one had notice open. Emily turned and saw Will, Henry in his arms. The baby was asleep, his face blotchy with a temperature and screams now soothed.

"Will?" JJ stood, anxiety froze her face. "What's the matter?"

"Everything's fine. Henry's sleeping and his temperature's down. Hotch called. Asked if we'd like to come along for the ride."

Emily stood, taking her files and glaring at her male colleagues so they shifted their asses out of there. Rossi was already out of the door, three marriages had taught him well. Morgan was only slightly slower and Spence needed a light tug on his hair as she passed, the second it took him to realise brought a smile to Emily's face.

Hotch's door was closed as she passed. He was sat at his desk, watching his computer monitor. Emily knew what was on the screen: home movies of Jack, probably in the park or on the swing. It was a nice thing he'd done for JJ, taking a risk and interfering by calling Will. There was the issue that being somewhere strange while Henry was sick would upset him more, but at least his mom would be there. And JJ would be soothed. Prentiss remembered Morgan's suggestion that she found a release, a warm body with whom she could forget and for a moment she felt lonely. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling; it was one she had lived with for most, if not all, of her life. It was a feeling she'd become used to, and she'd learnt how to fill the empty boxes with other things, new things. Pausing, she looked at her supervisor; his shoulders were tense and stiff and she wondered how long it was since anyone had massaged the knots away. Maybe he did have a night time honey, like Morgan, a warm body he could call on, but she suspected not. Hotch wasn't wired that way, in the same way as she wasn't.

He glanced up to the window, clearly having sensed that he was being watched. Emily back tracked and entered his office, closing the door behind her. She took more liberties with Hotch than the rest of the team with the exception perhaps of Rossi. For Emily, a person was a person, even if he was your boss, a belief that had gotten her into trouble more than twice.

"That was a nice thing you did for JJ," she said.

Hotch shrugged, unsmiling, his eyes dark. "I'm not sure having a baby with a virus is great for the rest of the team, but on this occasion it might help. We've not even had time to unpack and we're off again, and I knew that JJ wouldn't stay here if I offered her the option."

"It brings a bit of sunshine to all of us," Emily said, watching Hotch pull on his jacket and switch off his monitor. He looked haggard and tired, and she wondered how much sleep he'd had recently. Not much, she guessed. "You should get some rest on the plane. I'll wake you when we get near and we can go through the case. You've read it already, we all need time to do that."

Hotch stared at her, and she wondered if she'd crossed that line again, but instead of giving a rebuke, he smiled slightly. "Thanks. I'll see you there."

Nodding, she left his office, a sense of anticipation waving over her. She couldn't identify where it came from, maybe the cases that lay in wait for them, maybe Hotch, maybe Morgan's suggestion that she tried to cure her loneliness, or maybe it was simply that fact that the sun had not yet risen and she was awake and up.

She shrugged the feeling off as if it were a smothering blanket, placing it into a box to be dealt with later. She headed towards the runway, pulling her case behind her, mentally preparing herself for the flight and another delve into darkness.

_Please review - let me know what you think!_

_Sarah_


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you to all those who have reviewed the last chapter – Ramona, Kezelle and Ecda, thank you too for reviewing, I'm sorry I couldn't respond individually!_

_I've taken a few liberties with geography in this chapter. Pennington County is a real place, but not all facts about it are accurate – a bit of artistic licence._

_I've also tried writing a little from Reid's perspective – not the easiest thing to do, so I'm sorry if it doesn't seem 100% like him!_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'He that would live in peace and at ease must not speak all he knows or all he sees.' – Benjamin Franklin

Chapter 2

Reid knew that there was a one in an 11 million chance of being killed in a plane crash. He knew that statistically there was more chance of dying on the way to the airport than on the plane. He knew that a person would have to fly once a day, every day for 15,000 years to be statistically involved in a plane crash. He also knew that Morgan would have the basis for mockery for several weeks if he knew that Reid thought about these statistics every time the plane began to wheel down the runway. Reid had learnt to hide his fear well.

"Reid?" he heard Emily say, offering him a toffee to suck. He took one, smiling his thanks. Strawberry Bon Bons; a traditional British sweet. Emily had developed a penchant for them in recent weeks, and they had proven sufficiently chewy enough to help the ear popping on take offs and landings.

Everyone was looking through the files, with the exception of Will - and Henry of course. They were sat at the back of the plane, both asleep. Reid noticed that JJ looked a little less tired, her eyes were brighter and her shoulders more relaxed, so he could assume that she was glad that Hotch had called Will.

Reid returned to the first file, the one with the four girls. He looked over their photographs from before they were abducted, spreading them out in front of him on the table. All were the same age; junior year of high school. Two were blondes, one a brunette and the other had auburn hair. This UnSub was unconcerned with hair colour. They were around the same height – 5'7, and the same weight – 114 to 120lb; slim and tall. They were pretty girls, the ones that he would be too nervous to talk to, and probably the ones that would be nominated as Homecoming queen.

"He has a type," Reid said, as the plane finished its take off. He could still feel the pull of gravity as they rose higher, but it was becoming gentler. He knew that most incidents occurred during take-off and landing. He was safe for now. "Beautiful girls of a certain build and age. Probably the popular girls in their class. I suspect he's choosing victims because they remind him of someone he was rejected by."

Morgan looked up and nodded. "That seems clear, Reid. But we've got a lot of men who will have been rejected by a pretty girl in their time. Hell, even I was."

Reid laughed nervously. "Even you, Morgan? I would have thought it was you doing the heartbreaking."

"No, kid. There was a girl in my sophomore year called Gracie Andrews. I was short and skinny back then, but boy, did I have it bad. She laughed at me in front of her friends when I gave her a bunch of flowers I'd picked on the way to school, and I felt like a heavy-weight boxer had punched me in the gut," Morgan said, drawing Prentiss' attention as well as JJ's.

"What happened after?" Reid asked. His own dating experiences had been few and far between. He tried to learn from Morgan's exploits when he could do so without seeming obvious, hoping that they may help should he ever meet someone he was keen to pursue. As of yet, that hadn't really happened. Nerves always got in the way.

"I buffed up and she was my date for the high school prom in our senior year." Morgan looked back down at the files.

"Did you try to get revenge? You know, stand her up?" Reid pushed for more.

Morgan looked up again and laughed. "Hell, no. I had her eating out of the palm of my hand and that was enough. We had a _very_ nice night."

Reid saw Emily roll her eyes, but she said nothing. Hotch was sitting next to her, seemingly asleep, and Reid figured that she probably didn't want to wake him simply to tease Morgan. Besides, they were meant to be reading through the files. He took a quick glance out of the window and saw clouds beneath them. They did look beautiful, and for a moment he was mesmerised by them.

"The town is going to be running scared," JJ said, her voice low and tone serious, breaking Reid up from his clouds. He noticed that everyone had put down their files, probably having just read the autopsy reports; they hadn't made soothing reading. "These girls have been taken at random, it seems. Isabel Malone was abducted while running with a friend in the park; Amy Stewart was taken after getting out of a cab on her way home from a friend's house; Nichol Tarmey went missing while on her way home from school – she never got on the bus; and Jenni Appleby never arrived at her dad's one Friday after walking there from her mom's house. We are going to face a tough time from the local media."

"The fact there's no consistency with the abduction points may indicate that he is taking the girls at random when he gets the opportunity," Emily leaned forward a little, peering across Hotch. Reid smiled, he could tell she was anxious to join in the conversation, but really didn't want to wake their boss.

"There could be some consistency. We won't be able to tell until we plot them on a map. For example, both Amy Stewart and Jenni Appleby's father live near parks. The UnSub could be hiding in there as a means of cover," Reid said. He'd not had time to find the other two points before they'd left.

"There's also going to be kids rebelling. If parents are trying to enforce curfews it may mean that kids are sneaking out," Morgan said.

Prentiss leaned forward a little more, keeping her voice low. "And curfews and over-protective behaviour may enrage the UnSub as well, causing him to devolve."

Reid looked back at the file and the photographs; the smiling faces. He had kept the crime photos in the file, not wanting to display them. The girls had been tortured and raped, and finally killed with a knife. Isabel Malone had been stabbed 127 times. It was frenzied and uncontrolled, very different from the clearly well-planned and organised UnSub who had abducted them.

"This is not good." Reid heard Prentiss mutter as she placed the file down on the table in front of her. She was sat across the gangway from himself, Morgan and JJ. Rossi was being surprisingly quiet, seemingly deep in thought as he read through the notes the detective had sent Hotch.

"It never is." Hotch's voice said quietly, his eyes still closed. Reid looked over to him, wondering if he had actually been asleep, or was just listening to their conversation with his eyes closed.

"The killer's like two different people," Reid said, his voice now louder as Hotch was awake. "He's calculated and well-planned when abducting the girls, but the final kill screams disorganised. He must take some care of them as the autopsies suggest he keeps them alive for two weeks before killing them."

"Maybe he's replaying some event with them. They stop responding the way he wants them to, and he finishes them off," Morgan said. "He's a sexual sadist. From their injuries it seems as if he is binding them and subjecting them to pain in whatever way he can think of. The first two victims have signs of a lot more abuse than Nichol or Jenni; theirs appears to be focused on their hands, legs and feet. He's found a method now. He's going to want to practise it."

"We've got eleven days if the UnSub doesn't deviate from his established pattern," Hotch said, his eyes now open. "He waits two weeks until after the body has been found before taking the next girl."

Reid absent-mindedly flipped a coin from his pocket between his fingers, before becoming aware of Morgan staring at him. He put the coin away as slight turbulence rocked the plane. That didn't worry him, although it did make his empty stomach roll.

"He may escalate rapidly once he knows we're involved," Rossi said, finally resting his file on his knee. He had been the only one still reading through the file when the conversation began. "Or he may remain oblivious to the investigation."

Reid thought for a second and then shook his head. "He must be watching the local media. Otherwise how would he know that the bodies had been discovered?"

"It could be a coincidence, Reid," Hotch said. "It may be that the bodies are dumped days before they're found and it's a three week break between him losing one girl and needing another. Post mortem results also show that he's kept them for a week or more after they died. In the two weeks without he may mourn their death, or have mementoes that he focuses on until the urge is too strong and reliving the torture and kill isn't enough."

"We need to be prepared for all options, but I think it's best if we keep as low a profile as possible while we're there," Rossi said.

"JJ, can you call Detective Winters and ask her to make sure her officers keep it quiet that we're assisting on the case. If she needs to announce why we're there then she's to tell the media that we are investigating the missing men," Hotch said. "Which means that we will have to do that as well, but for today, at least, our sole focus should be on the girls."

JJ checked her watch. "It's 5.20 now, which makes it 6.20 in South Dakota. I'll leave it another ten minutes or so. Detective Winters probably needs all the sleep she can get right now with all of this happening in her town."

Hotch nodded. "Thanks, JJ. I've lost all track of time. Right now it feels as if it's almost lunch time. What do you know about Calverville Point, Reid?"

Reid leaned forward so he could see all of the team clearly, including Rossi. He'd quickly surfed the internet after Prentiss had nudged him out of the briefing room, finding out as much as he could about the area. "Calverville Point is part of Pennington County. The county's population is around 102,000, a good size considering that the adjacent counties are around the 2,000 mark. Calverville Point has a population of around 22,000 – it is not a small place population or size wise. In fact it covers an area of 320 square miles so things are quite spread out. The main source of industry is farming with its production of flaxseed and sunflower seed being the second largest in the states, although tourism is quickly catching up. There are also several breweries in the area which employ nearly eight hundred people, as well as an electricity service station which has another two hundred employees. Interestingly, a new handbag factory has just been established, which has led to 400 new jobs, so the population may be slightly higher than I've quotes. It _is_ significantly increased by nearly 10,000 students at the Black Hill University, a recently established college. There are four high schools in total, and so far one girl has gone missing from each." He stopped, realising he hadn't really taken a breath.

"When we get there, Reid, I'd like you to start a geographical profile. He's holding these girls somewhere. There's a lot of land to cover, so the quicker you can narrow it down, the better," Hotch said. "Given the age of the victims, the UnSub could be anywhere between 20 and mid-thirties. The amount of rage in the actual kill, and the mess he made of the first two victims, suggests he's inexperienced, so we could be looking for someone who may have harboured sadistic tendencies for several years, but has never acted on them until there's been a stresser."

"And given the type of victim, this could be something as trivial as splitting up with a girlfriend. It may not be the girlfriend he's angry at, but someone like we said before, who has rejected him," Morgan said, reopening the file. "I'm going to take a closer look at these autopsy reports, Hotch. There's something here that's bugging me and I can't put my finger on it."

Hotch nodded. "The ME's office is in the same building as the precinct. When we get there I'd like you and Reid to begin victimology. Rossi and JJ, someone needs to interview the victims' parents. Prentiss and I will go straight to the dump sites. I know we're all exhausted, but we need a head start on this one. I suggest everyone gets some rest until we land. It's going to be a tough day."

Reid sat back, pushing his hair behind his ears. He felt surprisingly awake considering he'd only had around three hours sleep. After getting home he'd gone online and visited the chat rooms he'd been missing from for a good few days, rejoining the old arguments about which was better: Star Trek or Star Wars. Something else he'd not tell Morgan about.

He looked again at the photographs and descriptions of the girls, squinting at them to make sure he was correct. "Hey, guys," he said. "This may have been picked up already, but all four girls have brown eyes."

Prentiss reached back into her file for the photos and studied them. "Your right," she said. "It hasn't been mentioned before. If that's key to him, he's getting pretty close to these girls before he abducts them. This isn't some distant stalker."

"Either that, or their images have been available publically; school newsletters or the internet," Hotch said. He put down the papers he was now holding and Reid noticed that he had started to go through the second case. "That's Garcia's first job. JJ, can you call her please. I haven't done so yet but we need her as soon as possible now."

JJ nodded, retreating to the back of the plane where Will and Henry were still sleeping. Their presence had created a different atmosphere on the journey so far; the hushed voices had not just been for Hotch, but for them as well. It was an added calm that even had even affected Reid. Maybe Henry being around, however little, would help them all sleep better knowing that there was a silver lining to the dark cloud over Calverville Point.

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Emily really wanted to stretch her legs. Cramp had set in around thirty minutes ago, just after Reid had given them his speech on Calverville Point, and by now she was enduring a quiet agony. Rossi was asleep in the seat facing her, his oversized briefcase that screamed new book was packed under the table, blocking any chance of moving her legs toward him. To her left sat Hotch, immersed in his files, a frown deepening the lines on his forehead. Stretching her legs in his direction would pretty much mean putting them on top of his and she didn't want to disturb him.

"Prentiss, are you okay?" Hotch said in an undertone. With the exception of Reid, who was deep into a book, the team were asleep.

"I have cramp in my leg. I need to stretch."

Hotch looked up from the file and caught her eye, giving her a brief smile. "You just had to ask." He put the file down on the table and stood up in the aisle, offering a hand to help her up.

"Thank you," she said with a sigh. "If Rossi hadn't put that damn bag there..."

"We'll swap seats," Hotch said. "Then you can stretch your legs into the aisle. Chances are the cramp will come back."

She shook her head. "You've longer legs than me, Hotch," she protested, checking to see if Reid had noticed their conversation.

"Not by much. And besides, I've no aversion to kicking Rossi's briefcase out of the way, or him for that matter." He slid past her without waiting for a further response, and she gave him a smile, now able to sit with her legs stretched. She felt a little uncomfortable, and for the second time that day, the funny feeling of anticipation emerged, of butterflies dancing in her stomach.

She made them flutter away by looking at the second file, which was decidedly thinner than the first. The names of six men were listed on separate sheets, underneath each were basic details: date of birth, address, occupation, family details and description. There was no connection between any of them; four were from Pennington County and had been in Calverville Point the day they had gone missing, others weren't from the area at all; one had been there to take photographs, the last there on a hiking trip. Physically, they were different too, ranging from attractive to not-so; 6'2 to 5'7, slim and wiry to overweight with diabetes.

"Did Detective Winters tell you any more about these men?" Emily said, looking at Hotch who had been on the same page as her.

"Hardly anything. It's taking a major back seat due to the girls, as you'd expect. The only reason Winters mentioned it is because the last disappearance is the mayor's son. I'm not sure if there's even a case; we need to look closer into the backgrounds of the men and their state of mind," Hotch said. He put the file down and fiddled with his tie.

"Maybe we should ask Garcia to do a search for other disappearances in the area, going back further than six months. There's no particular pattern to them going missing either. Maybe if we look further back we might spot something," she placed her own file down as well, puzzled at his agitation with his tie. "What's the matter?"

He looked embarrassed. "Something seems to be digging in the side of my neck."

"And it's not Strauss' dagger?" She reached up automatically without thinking; her nature was to help, and to her surprise he let her undo his tie enough to pull it round to the place he'd indicated was digging in. "Here," she said, showing him a plastic tag that hadn't been taken out of the tie when it was bought. It had pushed through the material of the shirt into his skin, irritating it.

"Thank you," Hotch said, taking a quick look at Reid who was still buried in his book. He began to pull up his tie, not meeting Emily's eyes. "Haley used to take care of taking tags of clothes. I'm just not used to being as thorough yet."

Emily nodded, picking up the file again. She'd noticed that every so often Hotch would share something with her about Haley. She didn't pry for it, it was always volunteered information, and never very much.

Silence descended on them as the plane began to gently drop. She looked across at Reid who was now looking anxiously out of the window and offered him a Bon Bon. She knew he hated the descent as much as the take-off; they all knew. But nothing was said. He took the sweet and gave her a small smile. Emily wondered if Reid had noticed her helping Hotch with his tie. He had looked engrossed in the book, but that could have been a cover. If he had noticed, she wondered if he was profiling Hotch as much as she was.

The plane's passengers began to wake, including Henry who treated everyone to a few ear piercing screams before succumbing to his mother's whispered words. Emily looked across Hotch and through the window as the plane began to land at Rapid City, seeing the vast farmlands with the mountains in the distance, and searching for all the secrets in between.

_Please review! Thanks for reading,_

_Sarah_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter – Dolina, believesvueo and TT92 as well. TT92 – I've left a longer response for you at the end of this chapter __J_

_There's a little more HP finding its way in here, but it's slowly, slowly as I would like to keep it realistic! I'm really enjoying writing this – I hope it's okay to read – do let me know!_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'Find a job you like and you add five days to every week.' – H. Jackson Brown, Jr

Chapter 3

The sidewalks were becoming littered with the red and gold hues of autumn leaves, rustled from the trees by the light wind. Once away from the fumes and melee of Rapid City airport, JJ found Pennington State to be as she'd imagined it: sprawling masses of fields and trees, with the Black Hills domineering the skyline. The roads were wide and the houses spread apart; bars and shops were few and far between. There was a small town feel, even though both its area and population were anything but small.

Calverville Point didn't step away from the norm of the rest of the county. They drove passed a small shopping are: a clothes boutique, a few bars and grocery stores, and then passed the high school that Jenni Appleby had attended. JJ yawned and looked around at Will and Henry. Henry was awake and looking out of the window, Will was half asleep. He'd been dealing with a poorly six month old for the best part of a week and was now shattered. Ideally, they would have had a few days between cases and she'd have been able to do most of the child care, but they didn't live or work in an ideal world.

"We'll stop off where we're staying and then I'll have to get to the station," JJ said as Morgan slowed the vehicle down, following Hotch in front.

Will nodded. "I'll unpack and go get some breakfast," he said, smiling at her. "I'll see if I hear anything of interest to you. Chances are, they'll be lots of gossip going on that officials like yourselves won't get to be privy too."

JJ laughed, though knew he was right. She also knew Will missed his job, and in another three months, the age they had decided when Henry would be old enough for nursery, Will would be joining the police department in Virginia. Listening into a few conversations would certainly be comfort food to his inner detective.

"You probably will hear a lot of stuff we won't," Morgan said, slipping the car into park outside the motel. "Especially in cafes and diners. Man, I wouldn't mind swapping. I'd kill for a good breakfast right now." Morgan jumped out of the car and opened the trunk.

"And that's the first thing we're doing," Hotch said, approaching them with remarkable stealth. "Check into your rooms and freshen up. We'll meet in the foyer in twenty. Will, you're welcome to join us if you like."

Will shook his head. "Thank you, Sir, but I'm thinking you'll be talking shop. Henry and I will sort out his breakfast and then I'll find myself a nice little cafe where I can get myself some eggs."

JJ watched as Hotch nodded and then ruffled Henry's hair with his free hand. He was missing his own son, that they all knew, and it didn't take a profiler to work out how badly. Hotch was chewing on a large stick of guilt and she wondered if it was worth trying to ease some of that, or whether he was actually enjoying his punishment. She looked across at Will who raised his eyebrows. He knew the story, of course, there wasn't much he didn't know – not that she told him everything. He had an uncanny amount of intuition, and she wondered if she wouldn't have to say anything to Hotch herself, that Will might take it upon himself to.

Reid handed her a set of keys, and she followed the rest of the team down a corridor to their rooms, which were clustered together as usual. Holding Henry, she let Will unlock the door as she watched the others get acquainted. Spence and Morgan were next to each other, then Rossi, Hotch, then Emily. It was good to know where everyone was; even in the early hours of the morning, one of them may need to be called upon.

"You coming in, Jayje?" Will said, opening the door for her. She smiled, aware that she had been a million miles away for a second.

"Yeah, I should change and wash my face. I wish I could grab an hour's sleep." She rubbed her eyes with her free hand. "I don't think _that's_ going to happen until tonight though."

Will took Henry from her, the little boy trying to grab at her hair as he was moved away. "At least you get some time with your son later. That was good of your boss, JJ,"

She nodded, opening the baby bag and pulling out the wipes. One thing she would never leave the house without; in fact, she wasn't sure how she had ever managed without them before Henry was born. She wiped her son's face and then hers. Quick and easy. "Hotch is feeling guilty because he hasn't seen his son for some time."

"I guessed as much. That's what's eating him, isn't it? Don't he realise that it's not the amount of time, but the quality of it? My daddy was at work a lot, but I don't blame him for that. When we were together he showed me what I wanted to be like with my son."

JJ opened her suit bag and pulled out a fresh shirt, knowing that a change of clothes and reapplying the bit of make-up she wore would hopefully make her feel like a new woman. "It's because of the divorce as well. If they'd stayed together, Hotch would have been around more."

Will shook his head. "If you ask me, she was looking for an excuse to end it. I can understand she might be frustrated because of the hours Hotch worked, but that's the man she married. When it's like that you don't need to ruin the time you do have by causing arguments." He sat down on the bed, allowing Henry to play with the buttons on his shirt. JJ sat next to him, fastening the cuff on her shirt.

"Do you ever resent the time I spend at work?" she said, somewhat apprehensively.

He gave a quiet laugh. "No, sugar. I met your job before I met you. Sure, it would be nice if you were home more, but you wouldn't be happy if you weren't doing this job, and I understand that. Maybe because Mrs Hotcher didn't work, she didn't understand what it was like to be tied to a career."

JJ leaned over and kissed him. "I'm sorry," she said.

"You never need to say sorry to me, JJ. Just always come home. Go. Your team will be waiting for you," he gestured to the door and she laughed.

"You're going to go to sleep aren't you?" she said indignantly.

Will laughed lazily. "Go. Go get your breakfast!"

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"Have one of your officers meet us at the Point Diner in forty minutes." Hotch hung up and placed his cell back in the inside pocket of his suit jacket, looking at the team who were now all gathered in the foyer. You would no longer guess that they'd had an average of three hours sleep the night before. He felt lucky. They were good. Reliable and intelligent. They had his back, and he had theirs. Maybe more so than he'd had Haley's in the end.

He pushed thoughts of his ex-wife into a little box and shoved it to the back of his mind. For the next few days, there could be no thoughts of Haley and where it went wrong. Not that he didn't know where it had gone wrong, he'd analysed it enough.

The low autumn sun glared into his eyes as he went into the foyer. It was a nice town: scenic and picturesque. The type of place he could imagine Gideon heading to in order to bird watch or just sit around and take in the surroundings. But even scenic places attracted killers, something he couldn't forget even when he tried.

"There's a diner next door. We have a table and coffee waiting," he said, hearing the hunger associated comments that immediately followed.

"Garcia's called," Morgan said, his long stride catching Hotch up. "She's found that all four girls have been in the media at some point in the past twelve months. Isabel won an athletics meet and was in the local paper – colour photograph on the back; Amy was May queen – she was in the fete programme; Nichol was on the school website, although she wasn't named there and Jenni appeared in the school newsletter as one of three girls chosen to go a science field visit organised by the college."

Hotch nodded. That made sense. For them to have the same eye colour was not a coincidence; it was what he was using to choose them. "He's scanning the media and getting hold of school newsletters to pick his victims. We will need backdated copies of all school bulletins, and ask Garcia to do a search on all local media in the last nine months for photos of female high school juniors with brown eyes. We may be able to get a list of potential victims." Morgan nodded, his cell already in his hand.

The diner wasn't in the slightest bit tacky as Hotch had been expecting. The tables were polished wood, rather than Formica, and the decor was a rather tasteful green. Calverville Point was not some back street place for yokels, it had clearly upped its ante to attract the tourists and take their money.

Hotch sat at the end of the table, allowing Reid and Morgan the window seats and everyone else somewhere in between. Prentiss was already studying the menu as if her life depended on it, her almost black hair shielding her face from view.

"Can I take your order now?" a small, rather overweight woman in her early fifties came over to their table. The orders were predictable. He'd had breakfast with them enough times to know what they enjoyed, and today was one of those days when they didn't know when they'd next be fed, so a lot of doubling up on sausages and such was done.

"Can I have an omelette with bacon, cheese and red pepper?" Prentiss said, the menu having now been memorised.

"And I'll have the same," he said, having not looked at the menu at all. He had learnt, particularly in recent months, that she was good at choosing food. There had been a spell when every time they'd eaten, he'd ended up wishing he'd had what she'd ordered, so he'd simply stopped choosing and duplicated her choice instead, much to Morgan's amusement.

"You still can't make your own mind up, Hotch?" Morgan said, pouring coffee from a large cafetiere.

"Hey, Derek. My taste is impeccable! Why should anyone chose anything else?" Hotch almost laughed as Prentiss attacked Morgan, and the banter continued, only interrupted by the eventual delivery of breakfast.

"I figured you needed to eat it quick," their waitress said, dropping a plate in front of him. "You're the FBI, aren't you? You here about those poor girls?"

"We're investigating the disappearances of six men in the area," JJ said, her voice calm. There was no hint she was lying.

"It's the killer of those sweet girls you should be looking for, and I bet it's that damn mayor who has you barking up the wrong path, looking for a killer who isn't there. Jenni Appleby used to come in here. Pretty little thing she was too; all auburn curls and big brown eyes. She asked me for a Saturday job a week before she went missing and I had to turn her down as I've enough staff at present. Poor thing." She passed them the ketchup automatically, which Morgan duly grabbed hold of, smearing his eggs and bacon.

"Was there anyone unusual hanging around before Jenni went missing?" Reid asked in between mouthfuls.

"We get a lot of passing trade at the moment as it's still good for hiking, so one particular weirdo wouldn't have stood out in my mind. If I think of anything, I'll let you know. I assume you'll be in for breakfast tomorrow?" she said, her hands now in her apron pockets. The nodding from his team let Hotch know the food was good.

"You said you didn't think the missing men had been murdered? Why's that?" he asked as she turned to go.

She shrugged. "It's not unusual for folks round here to get lost. It's a good place to get away from it all. Archie, the mayor's boy, well he had issues. His wife had just left him and he was being investigated for a spot of fraud. I wouldn't be surprised if his daddy had seen about his disappearance to somewhere nice and sunny, till it all blew over. Enjoy your food." She walked off to a table where a couple had just sat down.

Hotch began his breakfast, it was good, and judging by the lack of food, everyone thought the same. He eyed Prentiss' plate, wondering if she'd be leaving any. She saw the look and eyed him back. He didn't stand a chance.

_Please review! I'm getting lots of hits and people setting story alerts – let me know what's working and what's not!_

_Sarah_

_TT92 – thank you for your review, you've proven that internet research is not always reliable! The website I used to find the time difference was clearly way out, as was the details about farming. The farming detail can easily be rectified, especially as ranches are far more interesting..._

_I've needed to up the population to fit the story. The stats I quoted for the population of Pennington State were over by around 30,000, and obviously Calverville itself is entirely fictional. It's difficult using a 'real' place, as I don't want to actually have murders set there – bad karma and all, hence Calverville was designed to fit a purpose. It would be impossible to actually have somewhere that big in SD, looking at the maps of the area, and I realised that when I began to design it. Originally, it was going to be set in Virginia, but I needed a plane ride and mountains, and that was the first place I discovered._

_I do apologise for the inaccuracies. I know how irritated I am when people get things wrong about Manchester, where I'm from. It drives me up the wall. However, I've had to alter a few things to fit the story, but I am hoping that I am conveying the gorgeousness of the area (there's more in later chapters; I'm halfway through writing chapter 7 now). It really is beautiful, and I want to paint the people in SD in a good light too._

_I have done a little research into South Dakotan food. If there are any national favourites, could you let me know? I have mentioned kuchen briefly, but couldn't find anything on mains._

_And, I hope you don't mind, but I've used what you said about the weather being bi-polar. I will credit you at the start of that chapter._

_Many thanks, and I hope you continue reading and can suspend your disbelief!_

_Sarah_


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter. I apologise for its briefness and yes, Ecda, it was more scene setting! TT92 – thank you for the information, it is really, really helpful. The town I live in has a population of 285,000 and the school I teach at has 1500 pupils, so your town is tiny!!_

_I hope you enjoy this chapter, and find it in character... thank you to ilovetvalot for the read through – and go check out her stories, some good HP there, and some very funny Rossi._

_Please let me know your thoughts!_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'Some men are alive simply because it is against the law to kill them.' – Edward W. Howe

Chapter 4

Walking three miles uphill on fairly rough terrain was not something Emily Prentiss enjoyed doing after having the minimal amount of sleep required for her brain to function. The omelette she'd eaten at breakfast was now a distant memory for her stomach, which was reminding her with frequent groans that it needed feeding. It was going to have to wait. They were only just approaching the first dump site. She'd be lucky if they could manage to grab a sandwich within the next couple of hours.

The dense forestry ended, and Emily found herself looking out over a phenomenal view. She could see miles of blue sky, Harney Peak poking its head up above all the other mountains in the distance. The thick shrubbery and woodland created a carpet of evergreen that went on for miles around and below them. It was a glorious place to be, apart from the morbidity that had scarred it.

They were high up on the Centennial Trail, a path that totalled 111 miles, and the UnSub had chosen the steepest stretch of it to dump the body of Jenni Appleby. He had also chosen one of the most photographed points on the trail, making certain that the body would be discovered soon after being left.

"How did he get her here?" Emily said as the detective that had been assigned to them pointed out the spot where Jenni had been left. "We drove up as far as possible, and from there it's a good climb."

"We assume he uses a wheelbarrow, or some other type of trolley to bring the bodies up. They've all been left at least a mile and a half from the nearest road," Detective Mallory said, his tone dry and almost uninterested.

Hotch turned his back to the detective, who seemed to be interested in a bird that was flying overhead. "Pushing a wheelbarrow up here would take a great deal of effort and probably use more energy than carrying it. Jenni Appleby was around 116lbs. She'd been dead for an estimated eight days before being dumped so her body weight would have decreased with fluid loss – what if he carried her up here using something like a 90 litre backpack?"

"It would also draw less attention if he saw anyone. A wheelbarrow with a body in would be difficult to conceal," she said. Hotch was probably right. She had no doubts that Hotch or Morgan could carry her the distance they'd just walked, if she was in something easy to carry. "That means he's tall and probably works out. He must be fit and he clearly knows the area well."

"So he's either local or has had a reason to get to know the surroundings," Hotch said, looking closer at the dump site. It was still cordoned off with police tape, although parts of it had come untied from the metal rods and were blowing in the warm autumn wind. They were approximately ten metres off the track. Opposite them was a bench with a metal plaque, dedicating it to an Andrew Rawlins who had loved trekking in the Black Hills.

"He may well have sat there afterwards and watched the body, potentially photographed it," Emily said, standing up from the crouched position she had taken and stretching. Detective Mallory was on his cell, clearly reception was still available.

Hotch looked at the bench too and then back at the spot where the tall grass had been crushed by the body. "Why here? Why not somewhere more accessible?"

Emily watched as the wind caught his tie, blowing it around his shoulder. His suit jacket was under his arm, the warm autumn day and the climb had stopped it from being needed. "It must be of significance to him. Maybe this is the site of an incident between him and a girlfriend, or somewhere he came as a child."

Hotch crouched down again and pulled out a photograph of the crime scene. Emily moved closer to him to look, imagining the body in the photograph in situ. Jenni's legs were splayed, deep gashes to her inner thighs highlighted by their positioning. The nails from hands and feet had been removed, as had her front teeth. They had been left in her throat. She had been stabbed in the torso seventeen times, and once through the soft roof of her mouth. Unlike the first two victims, he had left her face alone. The ligaments behind her knees had been severed early on, making sure she was unable to attempt to runaway, yet he had still bound her wrists and ankles with thick rope, tying it tight enough to rip the skin.

"Hotch," Emily said, looking closely at the photograph. "He's missed every major artery. We know she bled to death..."

"But it wasn't quick." He finished her sentence. "Look at how he left the body. Feet pointing towards the bench. I think you're right; he did sit there and look at her afterwards. The placement of her hands over her chest contradicts how he left her legs."

"He also avoided stabbing her breasts. He kept her for four weeks, Hotch, and we know from the post mortem that she was repeatedly raped. Did he get her pregnant?" She looked up at him, the photograph now in her hand. Her chest welled up with sorrow for these girls. The gift of empathy, or maybe curse.

She heard Hotch inhale deeply before looking up from the spot where Jenni's body had been found. "There's no mention of it in the post-mortem. I'll ask Morgan to check with the pathologist to make sure she was tested; the same with the others. But that could have something to do with the length of time he keeps them for." He stood and looked away, over the bench to the panorama behind. "We need to see the other dump sites."

She nodded as Mallory came back over for them, his conversation finished. "Let's pick up a sandwich on the way if we can." He nodded, and they began to follow the detective back down to the car.

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Penelope Garcia took a look at the view from her computer monitor and almost wished she was in the Black Hills herself. The view was glorious, particularly with the blue skies and white fluffy clouds. Sighing, she hit a key and the screen changed to a list of names and several searches. She loved the concept of fighting crime and ridding the world of hideous humans, but she wished she could do that without having to know the details. Especially the set of details that had been waiting for her on her desk this morning. No sirree, she would gladly _not_ have seen them.

The ringing of her phone filled her head with noise instead of ghastly images and she answered as breezily as she could. "Home of the font of all knowledge, how can I help?" There was a laugh at the other end, one she recognised and adored. Morgan. "Well, hello, my sugar muffin. And how can I help you today?"

"You got anything new on our victims?"

"You need to be more specific than that, hot stuff. I can give you every detail of their parents last six years of grocery shopping, but that might not be of help to you at the moment."

"I need to know if there is anything in common between them. Did they shop at the same drug store? Did they use the same toothpaste? There must be something other than brown eyes that connects them." Morgan sounded agitated. Clearly they were drawing blanks back in Calverville.

"No, they all shopped online..." Garcia looked at her monitor and flicked another button. Like a well-oiled machine it hacked into another database, one which would take several minutes to spew out the information she required. "Honey pot, I'll call you back." She hung up, knowing that Derek would now be looking at his cell with raised eyebrows, as well as those heavenly chocolate eyes.

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"Coffee?" Rossi said as he, JJ and Detective Winters left the house where Isabel Malone had lived eight months ago. JJ looked exhausted and the detective appeared to not have slept or eaten since the first girl had gone missing. They needed caffeine and some form of sugar before they went to visit the Stewarts.

The nearby cafe was almost a replica of the diner where they had eaten that morning. Breakfast had been four hours ago, although Rossi's stomach told him it was more and his mind less. He ordered his coffee black and sweet, with a ham salad roll in servitude to his stomach and left JJ to drool over the cakes and fancies in the fridge. Sitting by a window he looked up to the heights of Harney Peak, its dark form casting a shadow over the little town square.

"Fancy climbing it one day, Dave?" Detective Winters sat down facing him, her tray holding a milky coffee and a rather large chocolate éclair. She was an attractive woman, about the same age as him, but unfortunately happily married.

"I prefer to admire it from afar," he said, slicing his ham roll in half. "If you get close to things, you often find they're not as good as you anticipated."

Winters nodded and laughed lightly, splitting the éclair in half and eating the non-chocolate half first. She obviously like to defer gratification for later, enjoying the anticipation. "JJ's gone outside to take a phone call. I think it was Hotch."

Rossi nodded, biting into the homemade bread. The food in small towns was always so much better than in the city. He'd take home-cooked over mass-produced any day. "Tell me about Calverville Point," he said. It wasn't small talk, he never made small talk. Everything he could find out about this place could add to his understanding of the killer.

"We don't have much trouble here," Winters said, starting on the chocolate side of the éclair. "We have the usual teenager issues, underage drinking, some substance abuse, but probably less than you'd expect."

"Were any of the girls known to you? Or their families?"

She nodded. "Nichol Tarmey was a troublemaker. When she originally disappeared it was first assumed that she'd run away. She had done before on three occasions. Never very far, usually just to the house of a young man called Terry McBride. Terry's a high school dropout and a dosser, and that's being nice to him. However, he seems to have a magnetic pull for any young female who wishes to rebel. I've checked him out. I've never liked him for the murders – seems too much like hard work for him."

Rossi nodded as Winters moved up for JJ to sit down. "That was Hotch," JJ said, talking a rather large bite of the sandwich she'd ordered. "He and Emily are at the second dump site now. He wants us to prepare a media statement to be released tonight confirming the theory that the men who disappeared simply chose this place to disappear from. I need to go back to the station and call the families of the men to forewarn them."

Winters looked puzzled. "Why's he doing that? You haven't started to look into that case yet."

"It's to take the focus away from what we are doing," Rossi explained. "If the UnSub is following the media then he may panic if he thinks we're onto him, and his behaviour may escalate. He may be aware of our presence here, so we have to pacify him, so he doesn't become exacerbated."

The older woman nodded and took hold of her radio. "I'll call someone to pick you up from here and take you back to the station. It's too far to walk."

Rossi had finished the rest of his roll by the time Winters had finished instructing her underling. "Who found the bodies?" he said, aware that JJ's cell had started to ring.

"Marcus Patrick, one of the rangers, found Isabel Malone. She was hidden in the most secluded spot, a walk that's not often taken by tourists as it's not on any of the popular maps. Marcus was on his day off and he came across her," Winters looked at her empty cup. "You want another coffee?"

Rossi nodded and caught the attention of the waitress immediately. "Annabel," he said, having taken note of her name earlier. "Could we have two refills? Thank you." She took the empties.

"My lift's here," JJ said, holding her cell a little away from her ear. "I'll see you later."

Rossi nodded goodbye. "The second body - where was that found?"

"Amy Stewart was found in a place called Watchmen's Hollow. She was discovered by a courting couple who were camping nearby. Needless to say, they went straight home after making the discovery. It's a fairly secluded spot, but nothing like the first dump site. It's now a little garden of remembrance. Amy's mother goes their every day and leaves flowers from her garden."

Annabel appeared with the coffee, hot, steaming mugs this time. Rossi added his own sugar, three spoonfuls of it and drank it hot. Winters pulled her face at him. "Don't know how you can drink it without cream," she said, blowing on hers to cool it. "And you must have a mouth made of asbestos."

"That's what my ex-wives said too, but for different reasons." He moved on swiftly. "Have there been any talk of men showing weird behaviour in the area? Any reports of stalkers, or men hanging around on their own in residential areas?"

"We have a regular bunch of weirdoes around here," Winters said, burning her tongue as she attempted to drink as quickly as him. "It's the woods. It attracts the flashers, and perverts who want to get a look at couples making out in the forests. There's been nothing out of the ordinary in the past year, just the usual crazies. The third body – Nichol Tarmey – was discovered by one of our local perverts. He thought it was someone sunbathing naked, until he refocused his binoculars. Then he gave us a call. Apparently, girls with stab wounds aren't a turn on, and he's not been seen doing his form of twitching since. I even heard that he's become a regular at the local Catholic church."

"How old is he?" Rossi said, his coffee finished.

"Early sixties. He's not our guy. There's no way he could move a body around."

Rossi nodded. He wouldn't fit the profile that was being formed, he knew. They were looking for someone older. "We should go see Amy Stewart's parents." He stood up and went to pay the check, leaving Winters still blowing her coffee.

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"I'm sure he's taking us the longest way possible," Prentiss muttered to him under her breath. It was the final dump site, that of Nichol Tarmey, and they had been walking for almost sixty minutes. Already it was four in the afternoon, and Hotch had hoped to have had a working profile by now.

"Detective Mallory," he said, calling the man who was a good ten metres in front. He had said virtually nothing to them all day, claiming he wasn't on the murder team Winters had put together and had only been asked to do this because he knew the area well. "Detective Mallory!" The man who was now number one on Hotch's hit list turned around and looked bored. "It's important we take what we think is the same route the UnSub would have used. We've covered at least three and a half miles – surely there must have been a closer parking lot?"

Mallory shook his head. "If he'd have parked closer, he would have had to have used climbing equipment. The only way you can get to Elk's View from the top car park is by scaling down a sheer drop. I doubt he would have managed that with a body in tow, and there were no signs that the body had been dropped from a height of around forty feet."

Hotch didn't like the sarcasm in the man's voice. "I thought you weren't working the case?"

"I'm not, but I've read the autopsy reports." He turned and continued to walk.

Hotch waited a few seconds to let him get a head start then turned to Prentiss. "Who reads autopsy reports for the fun of it?"

"Somebody who is seriously sick with a lot of time on their hands," Prentiss said, staring daggers into Mallory's back. "I'm going to have Garcia check that this was the quickest way as soon as we get back to the motel, and if it's not, you are going to exert your influence and have Detective Mallory sent back to traffic detail."

Hotch gave a small smile at Prentiss' anger and placed a hand on the small of her back without thinking about it. He only realised what he'd done after she glanced at him quizzically. He removed his hand before thinking that it was the first contact he'd had with another human since he'd last hugged his son and queried why it should have been with Prentiss.

"Mallory's stopped. We must be there," she said, rescuing him from his thoughts.

It was a place much more like the dumping ground of Jenni Appleby than either of the first two. The site looked over the same panorama as Jenni, only this time the body had been left close to the sheer drop of a cliff face. A bench was on the opposite side of the path, with no remembrance plaque this time. Mallory had stepped away and was again on his cell, talking to who appeared to be a girlfriend.

Hotch crouched down and pulled out the crime scene photograph and flicked his gaze between the actual dumping site and the body. She had been left facing the bench, in the same position as Jenni. Her hands had been placed over her breasts and her legs splayed open. Her wounds were almost identical to Jenni Appleby's, and a tidier version of the first two girls.

He sensed Emily looking at the picture from over his shoulder. "What are you thinking?" he said, turning to her. Her hair was wind tussled and he knew she'd have hell getting the knots out of it that night, recalling overhearing a conversation she'd had with JJ a few weeks previously.

"I don't think Isabel Malone was his first victim."

"But he was clearly inexperienced in his method of attack," Hotch looked at her curiously.

"But he wasn't inexperienced in his method of abduction. He has taken four girls with no one noticing. He's had practise. Maybe not at murder, but certainly rape." Her brown eyes met his, shining with the exhilaration of the case and of new ideas.

Hotch nodded. "Detective Winters said that nothing matched these crimes, even going back two or three years. The last rape in the area was a by a man who was convicted nine months ago."

"That's reported rapes, Hotch. You know most go unreported." She had never become hard like Elle had, never wanted to take the battle on by herself. At first, he'd thought her strange somehow, not being able to understand how she showed so little emotion at the horrific things they saw, but then he'd started no notice the subtleties about her. Her lack of rush to judgement, her empathy and warmth. There was no black and white where Prentiss was concerned, everything blended into a shade of grey. If Elle had been on this case, she would have been hunting the UnSub, whereas Emily was studying instead, building a picture.

"I'll have Garcia check clinic records. I think you could be right, he's raped before. It's something to add to the profile – there may have been complaints about him."

"That were probably dropped. If he's tall and strong he may have intimidated his victims so they don't say anything. We're looking for someone who has been the dominant one in relationships that have ended suddenly, or the female in them has undergone a change in personality, she's become quieter and more withdrawn both during the relationship and at its end," she said, keeping her voice low so that Mallory couldn't overhear.

"And his victims represent the one woman who rejected him or maybe fought him off. Probably a high school girl he had a crush on and was the first girl he asked out," Hotch said, standing up. His legs were beginning to ache. He wasn't unfit, not in the slightest, but the sleepless night followed by a good ten miles of walking had taken its toll.

"Did you hear Morgan's story on the plane?" Prentiss said, dusting down her knees. He'd noticed she'd knelt down instead of squatted and figured that she was just as tired.

Hotch shook his head. "Morgan's stories are sometimes best slept through."

Emily smiled. "He was telling us about his pre-buff days, when he was turned down by his crush."

Hotch nodded. "It makes sense. Maybe that's what happened to the UnSub." He looked over at the detective and called him over. "We've seen what we need to. We're ready to leave."

Detective Mallory nodded, and began walking down the slope, his steps lighter than the size of him suggested they would be. Hotch took out his cell and dialled Rossi. The signal was surprisingly strong. "Rossi, it's Hotch. We'll be back at the motel in about an hour. Are you still with Winters?" The answer was affirmative. "Then tell her we'll give a profile first thing tomorrow morning."

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The woman was the worst. He never would have thought that would have been the case, that he would have preferred to have been left at the hands of the man, but it was true. Her laugh sounded like bells, and her voice made him think that she must have been a singer, but the sounds belied what she really was.

He had heard another man screaming and pleading for her to stop. Another man in another room. He wondered how many of them were there, how many of them had been there.

How many would follow him.

He pulled at the chains around his wrists and felt them bruise his skin. It was no use. He couldn't break free.

He heard the sounds of high heels clicking along the stone floor. She was coming. He prayed to God for the first time in ten years, that this would be the last time.

_Please review. I won't wait for a certain number of reviews before I post, but it does motivate me to write when I get them!_

_Sarah_


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and added me/the story to their alerts! It's great to know that people are reading what you write and enjoying it! I hope this doesn't get OOC – let me know if it does and I can rectify it in future chapters._

_Big thanks to **Lily Moonlight** for being a great beta. If you like CSI:NY then check out her stories!_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'Tell me what you eat, I'll tell you who you are.' - Anthelme Brillat-Savarin.

Chapter 5

"My feet hurt."

Morgan laughed. He thought he'd been given a raw deal, having to stay with Reid all day at the precinct and work victimology, especially given Reid's new found fascination with the area and its Native American history. He now knew all he ever needed to know about _Paha Sapa _and the Kiowa Apache, and with any luck, if Emily's feet still hurt tomorrow, she might get to stay back at the ranch instead.

"I do a great foot massage," he offered, giving her his best smile. "Or so I've been told."

She glared at him from across the table. "Be glad you're sat too far away for me to kick you."

"Now, now, children. We're in a public place so let's behave." Rossi sat down next to Morgan with a glass of whisky. "Why don't you go get yourself and Emily a drink? Hotch is at the bar and I think he wants to know what you'd like."

Morgan stood, looking over at Prentiss. "What can I get you, Em?"

"Just a beer, thanks, Derek. A cold one." She stretched an arm and grabbed the menu, knocking the salt over in the process.

"Don't forget to choose something nice for Hotch," he said, moving before she could aim cutlery at him.

Detective Winters had recommended a small restaurant, not far from the motel where they were staying. After a brief consultation with the owner, the restaurant had been reserved solely for them, which, as Rossi had pointed out, was no great loss for the owner; it was a Tuesday, so was unlikely to be particularly busy anyway.

The bar was near the entrance, a ten second walk from the dining area down a low ceilinged corridor. The restaurant had once been a small saloon, and the bar was the original, carefully restored by the current owners. JJ had just arrived with Will and Henry, and Hotch was halfway through what looked like a Jack Daniels. Reid had yet to emerge from the motel, having still been on the phone when Morgan had knocked on his door twenty minutes ago.

"Two beers please, Hotch," Morgan said as his boss looked up.

"Yours and Emily's?"

Morgan nodded, noticing the use of Emily's first name. Generally, Hotch referred to her as Prentiss, but that had changed recently, since the Paul Silvano case. "She says her feet are hurting."

Hotch gave a half-smile, a rarity, taking Morgan aback somewhat. "We did have had quite a day of it. Did you hear back from Garcia?"

"She called to say she would have information for us later. Something to do with a database being down and she was struggling to get into it. She has sent over all the photographs she could find of junior high school girls with brown eyes, published in the past twelve months. Reid and I have been through them this afternoon and have compiled a list. There're a _lot_ of girls, Hotch; we really need something else to narrow it down."

Hotch nodded. "We'll go through what we know again after dinner. We may come up with something else." He finished the bourbon and ordered a soda water as Jolene, the restaurant owner, brought over the beers. Passing one to Morgan, he carried Emily's himself, and followed Morgan to the large table that had been set out for them.

Emily was engaged in conversation with Rossi, something to do with a case Rossi had worked years ago in Alaska, so he passed her the beer silently. Hotch took the chair next to Emily, much to Morgan's interest, and began to drink the soda water with his concentration given solely to Emily and Rossi.

Morgan sat back a little in his chair and viewed the scene. They weren't meant to profile each other; it was an unwritten rule, but also one that was broken frequently, just never out loud. Hotch had been partnering Prentiss with himself on a regular basis and Morgan had queried it to himself before. However, they did work well together, and Emily was no wallflower when it came to making her own opinions known – there was no way that she would let Hotch dominate any strategies or theories.

He let the thought be stored for further analysis later as Reid entered, making their team complete. Reid looked a little dishevelled, even for him and Morgan wondered what the phone call had been about.

"Your tag's stuck out," he said, pointing to Reid's back. "You still need your mother to dress you?"

Reid looked over his shoulder and pushed the tag of his sweater back down. "It's gone cold out there," he gave a slight shiver. "The weather's bi-polar."

Rossi laughed, his conversation with Emily now over. "Detective Winters was telling me she expected the first snow fall tomorrow. Be glad you've been up to the crime scenes today."

"Will the change in weather affect our UnSub?" Emily said, rubbing the condensation off the outside of her glass of beer. "He goes to great lengths to dispose of the bodies in specific places. Bad weather may hamper him and could buy us more time to identify him."

"I'm hoping we catch him before another girl goes missing," Hotch said. "Although I am concerned that our presence and the recent growth in the police investigation will spur him to take another sooner. " He stopped for a moment and looked around at their faces. "We need to order food and we can discuss this later. Has everyone seen a menu or has Emily been hogging them?"

Morgan caught Rossi's eye. Hotch was being slightly humorous, and it was centred on Prentiss. Rossi merely raised his eyebrow; clearly he had his own thoughts and wasn't willing to share them with Morgan. Yet.

"I have it on good authority that the food here is wonderful," Rossi said. "That said, the recommendation came from the owner's sister, so it may be slightly biased."

"I thought there was a resemblance between Detective Winters and Jolene," JJ said, Henry on her knee, feeding him something that looked like mashed sprouts. She looked content, Morgan noticed. Since returning from maternity leave she'd been unsettled in the evenings when they were away, clearly not happy about being separated from her son. But now, here with him on her knee, she was relaxed, more like the JJ from a year or so ago. It was nice to see. "You want a hold, Derek?" she said, having noticed him looking her way.

He shook his head. "Later. When he's digested that sprout thing." He remembered his sister's children being quite good at regurgitating food and he _was_ wearing a new t-shirt. "Best to let his tummy settle."

He heard laughter, and knew he was being mocked. In response he picked up the menu that Emily had discarded after Hotch's words and perused the food.

It did look good. The handwritten menu suggested that the ingredients were fresh in, the menu based on what was available. Morgan glanced up and looked around the table; with the exception of Emily and Hotch, everyone was looking at what was on offer. "Spence," he muttered, feeling mischievous . "Spence!"

"Huh?" Reid looked at him, broken out of his daydream.

"Let's make a prediction. What's everyone going to order?"

"We're not meant to profile each other, Morgan..."

"I don't mind. You have permission to profile me. What do you think _I'm_ going to have?"

Reid glanced down at him menu. "That's too easy. You'll have the pate for starters, even though you think it's fussier than the image you'd like to project. You prefer to be thought of as straight forward, and without frills. And for main, it'll be the avocado and Monterey jack cheese burger, cooked rare, with fries instead of salad. You would order the steak, but burgers remind you of your childhood and you like your comfort food. Besides, the last time you had a full steak, you had bad indigestion."

"And would you _like_ to profile my digestive track too?" Morgan said, slightly unnerved at the pate revelation.

"Hey, you said you didn't mind being profiled. Try me. What am I having?" Reid put the menu down and sat up straight in anticipation, angling his chair to face Morgan and looking like a child waiting to hear that he had just got an A+ in a physics paper.

Morgan shook his head. "Kid... to start you'll have the red pepper soup because you know it won't fill you up too much and you can probably work out the quantity of vitamins you'll get. For your main course you will choose the shrimp salad, as your feminine side just won't be able to resist; it's also light and will be easy to digest, meaning you might have room for a little South Dakotan kuchen after."

"That is actually what I was going to have," Reid paused for a moment. "You think the others ever do this? Guess what we're going to order?"

"Hell, yeah. It's better than thinking about the case."

"You order mine, and I'll get yours. We'll swap when they arrive," Reid said quietly, a secretive smile on his face.

Morgan chuckled. "We'll see by their faces who's been profiling us." He looked over at Hotch and Emily again. Hotch hadn't touched a menu.

"Chicken wrapped in bacon with garlic and thyme. Bruschetta to start," Reid said. "That's what Emily would choose. However, given that she knows Hotch will order the same as her, she may go for the fillet steak with shallot and red wine sauce."

"Do I have something stuck to my head, Derek, or are you just profiling what I'm going to have for dinner?" Emily's voice slapped him round his ears and he realised he'd been staring at her and Hotch. He grimaced. Revenge would be had, and it would probably damage his ego in some way.

"Are you ready to order?" Jolene appeared, notebook and pen in hand.

"I think Derek and Spence should be able to order for all of us," Emily said, almost purring at their discomfort.

"Hey, no," he held his hands up in surrender. "It was just a bit of fun."

Let's hear it, Morgan," Hotch said. "Don't write any of this down, he could be wrong."

Morgan sat up and edged closer to the table. "Hell no, if I can't predict what you're all eating then I shouldn't be on this team." He felt five pairs of eyes fix on him; only Reid was looking away. "Rossi, smoked salmon to start, then steak medium rare; JJ, soup and salad, only you'll give the shrimp a miss and have chicken instead; Will, soup and the burger; Emily," he tilted his head to one side. He could really piss her off here. "The smoked salmon and the steak cooked rare. You were going to order chicken, but you know Hotch would prefer steak, so as a compromise, you chose the salmon to start instead of the bruschetta." He looked around the table. Rossi looked mildly amused, and JJ wanted to laugh. "I'm having soup and salad, and Reid's chosen the pate and steak. You got that, Jolene?"

"No," Emily said, her voice loud. "There's no way in this world _you're_ having the salad when there's a burger available. You would see ordering salad as a sign of weakness, suggesting that you may have something you need to correct physically. A burger is far tougher, and also suggests that you're more working class. You would order steak, but you've been getting heartburn recently, and a burger shows your roots better."

"So it wasn't just Reid and I doing the profiling," he said, knowing that the last order had taken away the attention from what he'd said about Hotch and Prentiss. Hopefully he'd gotten away with it.

"And what would Garcia have ordered?" JJ said. "We can't leave her out."

"Something _not_ on the menu," Hotch said quietly. Morgan studied his boss for a second and figured he'd gotten away with it. Maybe.

"You have a spicy sauce to go with the burger?" Will said to Jolene, clearly more interested now in being fed than having his personality analysed. He took hold of Henry and placed him in his pushchair.

"I do. I take it that Morgan's order was correct? Anyone want to change?" Jolene said, looking round the table. No one spoke

Morgan swallowed a smile as Hotch looked up and nodded. "Can we have couple of bottles of wine, and some table water as well?" Jolene gave another broad grin and disappeared. "Morgan." Hotch raised his eyebrows and his tone.

"'Tell me what you eat, I'll tell you who you are,'" Morgan quoted, looking Hotch direct in the eye.

"Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin," Rossi said. "The father of the low-carbohydrate diet. Nice work, Derek – and Reid. But I take it you're swapping meals when it's served?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Garcia unwittingly called as they began the main course. She'd had to make do with a sandwich from the limited choice in the canteen, having had no time whatsoever to go anywhere that might have served proper food.

"Hello, my honeys," she said, after being informed she was on speaker. "I am the bearer of information, you may bow before me. And you should, because I've spent all afternoon hunting down these treats, I can tell you."

"Get to the point, Penelope." She heard Hotch, his tone as dry as always. Then she heard cutlery. Her stomach rumbled.

"I can call back later, once you've finished your oh so fabulous food without me."

"We'll send you a doggy-bag, baby girl. Now tell me what you've got." Morgan. That made her smile.

"I hear Mary-Sue Chocolatier, right where you are staying, make a wonderful cherry truffle. Anyhow, the mothers of all four of your girls did their shopping online. Each girl went missing within four days after an order was delivered, and those orders had several things in common, as you'd imagine, but the one thing that stood out was sanitary protection." She heard the silence at the other end. Their food would be going cold, although she knew that Reid and his salad would be okay. "Their mothers placed orders on other weeks, but didn't always include said product. Something else you've probably connected by now is that none of the girls had sisters over the age of ten and something you won't know because you don't have my powers, is that all of their mothers were receiving hormone replacement therapy."

"Well done, Garcia. Can you tell us where they got their prescriptions?" Hotch said. Someone else had begun eating. She felt hungry. Maybe she should get Kevin to order take out.

"Different branches of the same pharmacy chain, Sir. And I should tell you now, don't assume that your UnSub works for the grocery store; it is not a secure website and I certainly would not trust it with my credit card details. I'm sending you all the information I've dug up, and then I'm calling for a take out. You're making me hungry. Over and out and don't forget the chocolates!"

She hung up, and looked at her monitor. Order a take away online, eat, and then she might just be able to dig up some more secrets.

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"That should help us narrow down the potential targets," Reid said, spearing a shrimp with his fork. "If we cross reference the girls whose pictures have been available with those variables we may have a short enough list to up security around their houses."

"It ties in with what Hotch and I discussed earlier," Prentiss said, glancing at her supervisor. Morgan's profiling of their food had rocked her slightly. He'd guessed right about the reason for her choice. She tried to refocus. "The UnSub keeps them for four weeks as he imagines he will be able to get them pregnant within this time. Hence he chooses victims that are likely to have just had a period and can therefore plot when they're likely to be most fertile."

"So why kill them if he thinks they might be pregnant?" Morgan said. "Why torture them when he could damage his child?"

Rossi drained the rest of his whisky, looking rather doleful that it had gone. "Because he's not interested in the child being born. He's re-enacting what's previously happened, what is probably the stresser. His girlfriend either had an abortion, or he got angry and did it for her. We need to run a check on missing females in the area in the past twelve months, and for any other bodies discovered of women older than the ones we're investigating."

"We need to check, but I disagree, Dave, that he killed his girlfriend. I think it's more likely she had an abortion and he's taken it as a sign of rejection," Hotch said.

"And that's reminded him of his initial rejection when he was younger, a rejection by a pretty, popular brown-eyed junior in high school. That's your trigger." Emily reached over for the wine and poured herself a glass. "They'll be more to his background too."

"A father who was a bully towards his mother, a mother who failed to protect him and eventually fled the family home," Morgan said. "We've got enough to give a profile, Hotch."

Hotch nodded, scraping a little of the sauce onto his last mouthful of steak. "The only issue is it's going to like looking for a needle in a haystack. We have over 5,000 male students at the university, plus the males between twenty and thirty who are local to the area. We can't discount the student population just because the UnSub knows the area well."

"Then let's check walking clubs in the area and hiking societies. Rangers as well – it wouldn't be unusual for a student to take a part time job as a ranger," Rossi said. He stood up, picking up his empty glass, seeking a refill. "There are other places we can look too. Anyone else for a drink?"

Emily asked for another beer, as did Morgan and Reid. The latter was now pulling out a map of the area, pushing the empty plates aside so he could spread it out on the table.

"What've you noticed?" Hotch said, walking around to stand behind Reid. Emily leant over, studying the map. There were red dots to show where the abductions had taken place, and black ones to show where the bodies were found.

"I've noticed nothing," Reid said. "Two of the abductions were near the edge of the national park. The other two were not. Calverville Point just isn't big enough for him to have a comfort zone. He's taking the girls from where he needs to."

"He must have a car that's capable of driving over rough terrain in order to dump the bodies," Morgan said. "A car like that wouldn't be typical for a student. It's probably a 4x4 or a pick-up."

"He could borrow it from a parent or friend. Or he has access to money. It may also be a car he uses for his job." Hotch's eyes were focusing on the dump sites. "We saw this today, Emily. The last two victims were left on trails on the north side. The first two are on places heading toward the north, going up from the south and east."

"The view must have some significance for him," Morgan said. "I've got a really funny feeling, Hotch, that Rossi is right, you know. There may have been another, earlier victim."

"One who doesn't fit the type?" Emily said. She'd thought this before when she was outside with Hotch. "A spur of the moment kill – or rape."

"It's dense forest. Some of those places won't have been walked upon for years," Morgan shrugged. "Hell, the bodies of our six missing men could be among those trees and we'd be none the wiser."

"So we really can't speculate unless something comes up." Hotch pulled out his cell. "Garcia, it's Hotch. Can you get hold of every missing persons report for females last seen in the Calverville Point area in the last two years? Have it send to my handheld." He hung up. Emily decided that the chocolates from Mary-Sue's were going to be sent from him. "If any fit the victimology then we'll investigate, otherwise it's a dead. We do need to contact counsellors, abortion clinics and drop in health clinics to see if anyone came in eight to twelve months ago scared of their partner's reaction. Again, that's another wide net."

He stood up straight and glanced towards the corridor leading to the bar. "I'm going to get a drink, especially if Dave's paying. He'll need a lift as well."

Emily watched him walk down the corridor, then felt Morgan's eyes boring into her.

"So why does he always copy your order?" he said, folding up Reid's map.

Emily frowned at him. "How would I know?" She looked at JJ, who stared knowingly back. Emily felt cornered. "He's said in the past that he'd always been disappointed with his meals when he's seen what I've got, so the logical thing was to order what I was having." She knew she sounded huffy, but that was the way she felt at their interrogation.

"So why do you now order for him?" Morgan said, his arms folded. The intensity had now gone out of his eyes, and instead he looked concerned. "Today – I know you would have rather had the chicken, but you ordered the steak knowing that's what Hotch would have preferred. You could have just pointed it out to him on the menu, and suggested he had that."

Emily opened her mouth as if to speak, but she had no idea what to say. She'd never analysed their behaviour before, but Morgan was right; she _had_ chosen the steak because of Hotch.

"Because that's what couples do," JJ said. "Pointing out a meal that someone would like is intimate. It suggests a familiarity that maybe Emily doesn't want to admit to."

Emily stood up and glared at her. "Emily isn't going to admit to anything because there's nothing to admit to! Now drop it!" She walked down the corridor to the bar where Hotch and Rossi were talking, Rossi about to pick up a tray full of their drinks.

"Emily? What's the matter?" Rossi said, as his focus went onto her instead of Hotch.

She shook her head, and sighed, the momentary anger slipping away. "Nothing. I'm fine. You mind if I have my drink here?"

"Not at all." Rossi held the tray towards her and she took her beer, sitting down on a bar stool as he left.

"What happened?" Hotch said after a minute had passed. "Is it about the food?"

She took her eyes off the stone floor and looked up at him, a wry smile on lips, and nodded.

"Then I'm sorry, because it's my fault, and it should be me they're interrogating," he took a drink of his own beer then looked to the doorway where JJ was stood.

"Is it okay if I have a minute with Emily?" she said, looking at Hotch. Their supervisor nodded, and made his way back to the dining area.

"Em, I'm sorry. We shouldn't have teased. _I_ shouldn't have teased." JJ placed a hand on Emily's knee and squeezed.

"And I shouldn't have reacted like that. Hell, JJ, when _have_ I reacted like that? Like a fifteen year old whose mom mentions a boy she... and I'm going to stop there, and you are not going to even going to try to get me to finish that sentence because sometimes you know I don't think before I speak!"

JJ patted her knee. "Sentence forgotten. It's sweet that you think of Hotch, even if it's subconsciously, because he needs someone to think about him right now."

Emily shook her head. "No, JJ, he doesn't. He's a grown man, who's been divorced for some months, and separated for well over a year. If he wanted someone to think about him, he'd have found someone. He likes being on his own."

"A bit like you then?"

Emily smiled, holding her head down. "I'm not, though. I have – friends..." she looked up at JJ, her eyes belying her knowledge at what she had just said. "Not that I mean Hotch hasn't."

JJ nodded emphatically. "Like I said, Emily. He needs someone." She stopped speaking and turned in the direction of the dining areas. "I can hear Henry crying – let's go back."

Sliding off the bar stool, Emily caught sight of the snow slowly beginning to dance down from the skies. She shivered, hoping that their UnSub would leave everyone where they should be, warm in their beds, and that by the end of tomorrow they would know his identity and be on their way home, where she could deal with what the end of that sentence was without being analysed.

_Thank you for reading – please drop me a review and let me know what works/what doesn't._

_Sarah_


	6. Chapter 6

_Firstly, thank you for all the lovely reviews! And to all the people who have added this story to their alerts and favourites. It is such a buzz when you know people are reading (and enjoying!) what you have written. Thank you to Ramona, believesvueo and Ecda for your reviews too!!_

_Short chapter, but it covers what it needs!_

_Thank you to __**Lily Moonlight **__once again for the beta!_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'Night, the beloved. Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree.' - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.

Chapter 6

The curtains had been left open deliberately so the view remained on show, something he wanted to see. It had stopped snowing and the clouds had parted, allowing the stars glimmer over the freezing night. He had pulled a sweater on over his shirt; usually a constant temperature, he was now feeling chilled, probably due to the exertions that day and the sudden change in climate.

Hotch reopened the second file and spread the photos out in front of him. They needed to make some headway on this case too; otherwise they could lose the opportunity to catch the person responsible. If anyone was responsible. He still wasn't sure, hadn't had the time yet to process what information they had.

He read the names: Timothy Hancock, Niall Hayes, Dieter McCombe, Brett Hassell, Walter Thomas and James 'Jimmy' Cavendish. Their ages ranged from 21 to 42. If it had been women who were missing, it would have already been a murder enquiry. Men could look after themselves, or that was the common view. Was it true? Not always. They weren't infallible.

He turned towards the door, hearing a slight tap. Checking his watch and noting the time – 10.45pm – he wondered who it was. He'd given orders for people to rest, to get some sleep, and although he knew it took more than his orders to call in the sandman, he hoped it wasn't a member of his team.

"Prentiss," he said, opening the door. She was dressed in jeans and a sweater, her hair damp and slightly curly from her shower. He let her in before rebuking her.

"You should be trying to sleep..."

"With all due respect, Hotch, so should you." She raised her eyebrows at him, daring him to answer back and sat down on his bed. In her hands were two stacks of papers, uncreased and freshly printed, if a little damp. "Garcia sent these over to me about twenty minutes ago, so I went over to the station and printed them out." She passed him one of the piles. "It's as much information as she could get on each of the men, plus details of others who have gone missing in this area in the past three years."

He sat next to her on the bed, an act that felt strangely intimate, and skimmed the first few pages. Garcia had gone to town. "You don't need to be doing this now. I need you awake and ready in the morning..." He looked up at her.

She shook her head. "You know I can live on adrenaline and we need to look at this case, Hotch. Rossi, Spence and Morgan will all get a good night's sleep. Besides, if we both go though it for a couple of hours, it's better than you being up all night again." Prentiss slid further up the bed, towards the pillows and kicked off her shoes. She slid her feet under her and split her pile of papers into two. "Let's go through what we have on the missing and work victimology."

He looked up at her and caught the determined expression she was wearing. It was useless to argue, to send her back to her room like a naughty child. She was her own woman, and if she wasn't here going through the papers with him, she'd be doing it on her own.

Thirty minutes later and she broke the silence. "There are no reports of mental health issues, no traumas or incidents in their lives that could suggest a reason to want to take their own life or start a new identity. All went missing on a Tuesday or Wednesday, and all were last seen in a bar or restaurant. The only one who stands out as being different is the mayor's son, Jimmy Cavendish."

"They've nothing in common," Hotch said. "Financially, two were wealthy, two were getting by and one had just got a new job which would have paid very well. Hayes and McCombe were single, Thomas was married and the other two divorced some time ago."

"If – _if_ – it's a crime, it's one of opportunity. It's not pre-meditated. We have no pattern in their disappearances apart from the days; one month apart for the first two, then eight days, fifty days days, two months... Hotch, Cavendish went missing on a Saturday," she looked up from the papers. "That doesn't fit."

"Our breakfast waitress might be right. Jimmy Cavendish may have conveniently gone missing. Emily – play the sceptic," he put the pile of papers on the bed and moved further on it himself, stretching his legs out in front of him and facing her. "In six months, five men have gone missing from the same town either on a Tuesday or Wednesday night..."

"Those are the nights when most of the bars have offers on for cheap beer. They were drunk and had an accident or wandered in the woods and got lost."

"But no bodies or tracks were ever found. There were no phone calls for help and witnesses from the bars and restaurants did not report the men as being inebriated." He watched the smile grow on her lips. "Next one?" She nodded. "None of the men had mental health issues or anything to suggest they wanted to take their own lives..."

"...not everyone who commits suicide or disappears shows outward signs of being depressed."

"But no suicide notes were ever found and the men disappeared without taking anything with them. Also, no money was withdrawn from the men's banks after they disappeared."

"Then they set up accounts in different names or stored cash."

"Garcia checked for accounts started in different names, and there were none, nor any suspicious activities in the weeks leading up to the disappearances," he said, smiling at her attempt at playing devil's advocate.

"And in most cases, when someone disappears and leaves children behind, they contact them sometime after and reassure them they're alright. This has never happened. To all intents and purposes we have six men who have disappeared off the face of the earth." He heard Rossi begin to snore in the next room and saw Emily try not to laugh.

"I'm surprised he's in these, to be honest," she said, leaning back against the pillows and headboard. "The last time I saw him, he was deep in conversation with Jolene." She gave him a knowing look.

Hotch gave a low laugh. "Maybe he's taking it slowly."

"Rossi? Slow? Never. I've seen him in action before." She shook her head. "More likely his indigestion's playing up. I saw Morgan pass him a settler earlier." She eyed the piles of paper. "This is turning into a conversation, Hotch, we should get back to business."

There was a smile in her voice, a touch of sarcasm, but her eyes were soft. Why was she here? He could tell she was tired: little sleep the night before combined with the miles of walking today. "Let's split the other potential victims between us. Sort them into three piles: strong possibility, maybe, and no chance."

"What's our criteria?" She took the papers he passed.

"No mental health issues, stable finances, went missing after a Tuesday or Wednesday night." There were 136 cases of male missing persons in the last three years. 37 had further notes attached to say they had turned up sometime after, suffering from injuries, amnesia – a variety of conditions. The bodies of 11 had been discovered, leaving a total of 88 to sift through.

By the time the church clock chimed a very quiet midnight they had finished; three piles and twelve new names that fit their criteria. Hotch stood up, stretching his legs that had become stiff from sitting in a position he wasn't used to. Emily was still sat resting on his pillows, looking exhausted and pale, but comfortable. He wasn't used to seeing a woman on the bed where he was going to sleep, and something in his chest felt warmer, seeing her there. "I'll have Garcia run a search on the names first thing tomorrow, then we'll grab some time in the afternoon if we can and go through any new details."

"Are we going to brief the rest of the team?" she said, her head falling to one side to rest on the pillow.

He shook his head. "No. I want them to be focused on the first case. We know that the girls have been murdered. We have no concrete evidence that the men have. If needs be, I thought we could stay here a few days after the others and see if we can build a profile on the second case."

"Why us? You know the rest would stay behind if you asked," she sat up, and he noticed that her hair had curled.

"They would, Emily. But they – we all – need a break. As their supervisor I need to look after their health as well as make sure they do their job," he sighed, glancing up to the ceiling, knowing what she was going to say next.

"And we don't have much to go back for, do we Hotch?"

Her tone was more bitter than he'd expected, and he thought hard, wondering how to answer.

"Reid has got personal days booked to go see his mom; Rossi has a meeting with his publisher and his son's getting married; JJ has got Will and Henry and Morgan's never alone for long. I haven't had a date for months and there's been no boyfriend since the days of Noah..."

"Who was Noah?" He broke her rant and made her smile. It didn't take much to make Emily Prentiss smile, even if it was at herself. "You haven't had a date, Prentiss, because you'd rather be on your own than waste your time over losers, not because you _can't_ get a date. If you wanted you could do what Morgan does, but you know it's only a temporary fix, and you'd still be on your own in the morning, feeling twice as lonely as you did before. You're an only child, who spent her teenage years and younger without a steady set of friends so you are used to your own company. You prefer to be by yourself, except for a selected few, because your time is precious and you'd rather spend it by yourself than waste it over idiots. So why would I ask you to stay out here and send the others home – if it comes to that? Because we can get the job done, because you're not vying with me for the alpha male spot, or needing to be looked after and guided. Because we work well together and I respect you as a profiler." He watched her reaction. "And you came here at quarter to eleven, dead on your feet, wanting to get the job done."

She stood up, her jeans slightly low on her hips, exposing a patch of smooth stomach. He tried not to notice.

"Shall I profile you now? And tell you why you will stay here rather than go home and let Rossi or Morgan partner me? You're lonely, Aaron. You're trying to drown in your work. You knew your marriage was over before you took that 'last case'. If it had meant that much to you, you would never have come to my apartment that day to drag me to Milwaukee, you'd have stayed at home with Haley. But it was over before then, you just wanted to be there for Jack, and for that you needed to live with her.

"Tell me, Hotch, what happened on your trips to Scotland Yard with Kate Joyner? You'd never cheat, but you were tempted. People move on, Hotch. There's no crime in that, so stop punishing yourself." The force in her voice with which she had started had left, and instead she was gentle, persuasive. "You learnt to live on your own a long time before Haley left you. As a child you took the brunt of your father's temper, but never let your mother or brother know because you wanted to shield them, protect them, so you built a wall around yourself, and you've never taken it down.

"You partner yourself with me, Hotch, because there's something of me in you, something you're trying to work out..." A knock at the door halted her words. Hotch checked the spy hole and opened it.

Rossi stood there in t-shirt and shorts. "Is everything okay? I heard voices."

"We were just having a heated discussion, Dave, everything's fine," Hotch said, seeing him look at Emily still stood near his bed.

"You sure? Emily?"

"We're fine, Dave. Just looking through some notes Garcia sent and we had a disagreement." She gestured to the papers on his bed with her hand before scooping up her pile. "I should be getting back to my room. I'll see you in the morning."

She left without looking at him, or Dave, and he could tell from the way she held her head that she was upset with herself as well as him. His eyes followed her as she went next door to her room, listening as the door clicked shut and the bolt was pulled across.

"Are you two okay?" Rossi said again, giving him the 'I'm-a-profiler-look-so-don't-bullshit-me, and-if-you-lie-I'll-know-what-the-truth-is-anyway'.

"We're tired and it's been a long couple of days and I think we both needed to yell at someone," Hotch said. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything."

"Of course. I'm here if you need to talk anytime," Rossi began to walk back to his room. "Goodnight, Aaron. Get some sleep."

Hotch nodded, waiting till Rossi's door had closed, then pulled his own door shut, mindful that the keys were in his pocket. He put his ear to Emily's door, hearing her milling about her room. She hadn't got in bed yet. He knocked lightly, and she opened the door, giving him what could only be called a remorseful glare.

"Hotch..."

"Don't. It was my fault."

She stared at him. "Stop trying to be responsible for everything. It was both our faults. Shared responsibility. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that though – you're my boss."

"Maybe I'm the boss too much," he said, keeping his voice low, knowing that Rossi was probably still awake. "Can you give me the papers you took?"

She scowled at him.

He smiled, unable to help himself. "I need you awake tomorrow. Even if it's just to yell at me some more."

She stretched an arm and handed them to him. "I wasn't going to read through them again, you know."

"You're lying, Emily. Get some sleep."

She dropped her head to the floor and looked up at him, her features softer. "You need to sleep too."

"I will. Goodnight, Emily."

"'Night, Aaron."

He got into bed listening for her movements, hearing her headboard knock against their shared wall as she tucked under the duvet. He heard her curse as she knocked a glass of water over, probably reaching for her cell to set her alarm. He saw the stars through the window, the black mountains painting a dark picture over the night sky, and he inhaled the scent she had left on his pillows before closing his eyes, and drifting into sleep.

_Please review and let me know what you think, what you'd like to see etc..._

_Sarah ___


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter! I really need inspiration now! I was off work last week sick, but managed to do a lot of work on this. I'm currently blocking on Chapter 12, and could do with some encouragement._

_Thank you once again to __**Lily Moonlight. **__You'll notice I took your advice, but I know a lot about dreams now!_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'Yet it is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.' – Virginia Woolf.

Chapter 7

The lock on the door next to hers clicked shut and she heard footsteps pace about the room. Emily sat on her bed and listened as Hotch got ready for bed. She heard the water running for him to wash his face; the toilet flush; a noise from his cell phone, checking for messages and the wardrobe door open, the wooden handle hitting their shared wall.

Emily slipped off her jeans and top, pulling on an old nightdress and slid into bed, the headboard banging against the wall. She realised she'd not set the alarm on her cell, and reached over to get it, knocking her glass of water over in the process. Too unmotivated to pick it up, she pulled the duvet over most of her head and closed her eyes, trying to focus on the silence and fall to sleep.

It didn't happen.

Maybe she was overtired; maybe the rather heated conversation with Hotch had stimulated her senses too much; maybe it was the thought of the day ahead and the knowledge that another girl could go missing or maybe it was the sentence she hadn't ended before. _Like a fifteen year old whose mom mentions a boy she..._ She what? Likes? Has a crush on? Wants to break the icy cold exterior and find out just how hot he can be?

Emily turned over and bit her lip.

Hotch was a profiler, one of the best. He was perceptive and intelligent and... this was not helping. She had gone to his room at a quarter to eleven at night and told him that he was basically cold and a loner, and had probably contemplated an affair. Yep, great work, Em. Good way to completely get on the wrong side of your boss.

She turned onto her back.

Yet he hadn't been mad. He'd apologised. He'd told her that he needed her – awake, needed her awake. She bit her lip again, pushing thoughts of what had happened into a box in a very far corner of her mind, and instead of an image of Hotch, a picture of Rossi in his shorts and t-shirt came into view. She laughed in the duvet, which made her feel better, made her relax.

She turned onto her side without thinking about it, curled up into the foetus position, and the vision of Rossi in his pyjamas began to drift from her consciousness, dispersing into fragments of colour and blurred images, scenes her mind hadn't processed.

Emily dreamed of mountains, of standing at the edge and looking down, far down, to where Detective Mallory was stood. He shouted to her, but she couldn't hear him. Again and again she asked him to repeat, but she never heard. And then he laughed and she was sitting in a copse, looking for Hotch, who couldn't be found. He was hiding. She was meant to be counting, but she couldn't count high enough and she had forgotten where she was up to and now she had lost him. _It's okay, Emily, _Rossi said_. Mallory knows where he is. Mallory knows where he is. Mallory knows where..._ And then the girls were there, sat on the bench dedicated to Andrew Rawlins, all wearing Rossi's shorts and t-shirts, all with FBI emblems on them.

Then she was back at the bureau, sat in the bull pen, watching the others circle someone, like vultures. Morgan was standing at the back, shouting instructions, and she realised they were for her, but again she didn't understand, she just kept telling him that she spoke Russian.

Fields flew by underneath her and she went higher and higher, until the mountains were a dot, a mere dot, and then she began to fall, calling someone's name, but she didn't know who. She fell into colour and saw Jolene and Rossi, and then she saw Hotch and tried to tell him something, that someone was watching.

Emily opened her eyes and had to think for a second about where she was. She heard silence, and then a slight cry. _Henry._ Henry was crying and it had woken her. She pulled the duvet up, faintly hearing JJ's voice as she sang some soft lullaby, sending Emily back to sleep as well as her son.

---------------------------------------------------------

"Where's Hotch?" Morgan sat down next to her in the same diner they'd had breakfast yesterday. He smelt strongly of aftershave – not an unpleasant smell, but a strong one, one that meant he wouldn't be missed.

"I don't know and who are you trying to impress?" she said, sticking her fork into the blueberry pancakes she'd ordered.

"Some cop," Reid sat down opposite her. "I think I might have an omelette. Was it good yesterday, Emily?"

"Well, Hotch seemed to enjoy it," Morgan said from behind the menu.

She closed her eyes and huffed indignantly. There would be another dead body in Calverville Point by the end of the day. Derek's. "The omelette was great, Reid. The pancakes are even better but it depends what you're in the mood for. Now, tell me about the girl Morgan's got his eye on."

"She's called Katie and she's not interested because I think she's gay, but Morgan is determined to show himself up anyway," Reid said without looking up from the menu, which he'd probably memorised anyway. Emily figured he was just trying to avoid making eye contact with Morgan.

"Derek, can you not try to keep it in your trousers for a few days at least. I'm sure your night time honey at home will be on call when you get back," she frowned at him, hoping it would detract him further from the topic of Hotch.

She'd dreamt about him three times last night. The first dream was strange and would have provided Reid with enough material to analyse for the plane trip back. The second was slightly less weird, consisting of them walking around a lake with no water in it, and the third she couldn't remember without blushing.

"Hey," Morgan glared back. "I'm not intending to come on to her or anything. I simply said that she was cute." He sniffed a little like a dog smelling for sausages. "Have I put too much on?"

She nodded. "It's giving my blueberries an extra tang. Maybe you're starting with a cold."

Morgan shrugged. "Maybe. Anyway, has Hotch been here?"

"I haven't seen him this morning. My guess is that he ate early and went to the station." She popped the last bit of pancake into her mouth and stood up to go. "You want him for anything in particular."

Morgan nodded. "If you see him, just tell him that I'm going to see the coroner before we give the profile. I tried to find him yesterday, but he was out of state at a conference. Something's not sitting right, but I can't put my finger on it," he said. "I'll ask about the pregnancy tests too."

"Okay, I'll see you at nine for the profile." She pulled her coat on, buttoning it up as far as it would go. Outside was cold, and the light layer of snow that had come down during dinner time yesterday had been added to in the early hours.

The station was a couple of minutes away on foot; in fact, most things in Calverville Point were a couple of minutes away. The chocolate shop Garcia had mentioned was facing the station; its window decorated for autumn and Halloween, which would arrive in three weeks. A shiver tickled down her spine and she realised she didn't want to be in this place when October 31 came around. For a brief moment she felt homesick, wishing she was in her apartment with a hot pot of coffee, or even at the BAU researching, than here in the back of beyond, however beautiful that beyond was.

Hotch was already in the small room Detective Winters had given them for the duration of their stay. No one else had arrived there yet: JJ was probably still sorting out Henry, and Rossi frequently rose early to write a few pages of his latest book. It was only just 7am, which gave them almost two hours before Winters was bringing in the troops.

"There's a fresh pot of coffee made." Hotch gestured to the table, looking up from the post-mortem photographs of the girls. "Did you sleep well?"

The question was unexpected. Hotch generally didn't ask how they'd slept. She wondered if she'd been talking in her sleep; the walls were paper thin, and the thought of what she might have been saying, particularly during dream number three, gave her cheeks an extra glow. "I think so. I dreamt a lot though." She picked up the coffee pot and poured. "Coffee – you must be a mind reader."

He smiled briefly at her joke. "I wish I was," he said quietly. "Good dreams?"

"Strange ones. Detective Mallory was in one," she explained, adding a little more detail. "I might tell Reid, see what he makes of it." She sighed, picking up her coffee and putting it straight back down again. "Hotch – about last night."

"We made a good start on the second case." His face was stoical as always. "Depending on the rest of today, we could start to try and build a profile later."

Emily nodded. "That's fine. But, Hotch, the things I said – about Kate and your marriage..." Her mother always told her 'least said, soonest mended', but she'd never been able to stick to that. Not when something was eating at her.

"You were right, and I don't resent you for saying what you did, but let's continue the conversation another time." Hotch looked up at the door, and Emily realised he was anxious about them being overheard.

She gave him a slight smile, the butterflies from a few days ago returning for a second, then she gave a genuine smile. "I dreamt about Rossi in his nightwear," she confessed.

He gave a low chuckle. And that is a nightmare."

"What do you think he thought when he heard us?" She knew he'd said to leave it till later, but she was intrigued.

Hotch refilled his own mug. "I think he probably thought I was reprimanding you unnecessarily."

"I don't want him to think that, Hotch. I don't want him to think that you were being unfair." She found she felt quite passionate about it, wanting to find Rossi and explain. But explain what?

"He'll work it out for himself, Emily. Here," he pulled his chair out of the way. "Take a look at these photos. They've just been passed on by the coroner."

She studied them, trying not to be aware of her boss' close proximity, and not to think about what _it_ was. "The stab wounds are in almost exactly the same place in the last two victims. And, if you look at the second victim, they're in a similar position. He didn't lose control, Hotch, he isn't devolving. If anything he's evolving." She felt a little horror-stricken. She'd seen this before although it wasn't a regular occurrence.

"It doesn't matter about the stresser anymore; he's started to enjoy the kill." Hotch said.

"So he won't necessarily be as picky about his victims. Great." She tipped her head back and tapped a pen on the table.

The door swung open and Rossi entered, unzipping the thick waterproof coat he brought out for cold weather. "How hot's that coffee?"

"It's reasonably fresh, but if you want to make some more you're welcome," Hotch said, only briefly glancing up at him from the photographs.

"I'll make do. What've you got there?" Rossi stood behind Emily looking at the photos. "These tell us something new." Hotch filled him in on their conversation.

"We need to start a suspect list as soon as possible," Rossi said. He looked outside. "The weather looks like its worsening. Apparently, snow at this time isn't unusual, but dense snow storms are."

"And we can't necessarily think that the weather will hinder the UnSub. If he knows the terrain well, and has all the necessary equipment, then he's potentially more dangerous. People will be thinking about the weather instead of him." Hotch went over to the window and looked outside. "JJ and Reid are here. Let's go over the profile."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Usually, there were a few cops who didn't like the idea of profiling; they tended to stand at the back, close together and watch with scepticism on their faces. Today, there were no more than two stood with their hands in their pockets. The rest seemed keen to listen, a few held notebooks and pens, including the cute cop from yesterday.

The murders had affected them deeper than they would have city cops. Things like this didn't happen here; not once, and especially not four times. They weren't used to the violence and sadism shown on the victims, and Morgan wished that no one had to be used to it. Morgan respected their determination; some had come in early, even though their shift wasn't till the afternoon. They wanted this killer off their streets before he took another victim, another of their girls.

"This," Hotch began, is a working profile. More maybe added to it as the investigation progresses. The killer is male and in his early to late twenties. He is most likely local to the Black Hills region, or has a job or interest which means he knows the area well. In all probability it will be both of these things. We are looking at people involved in the ranger service and mountain rescue teams particularly, as our UnSub is likely to prefer being alone than walking or hiking as part of a group, although we can't rule that out."

"He's tall, in excess of six foot, and he's strong. He works out and he's proud of his physique," Emily stepped forward. Morgan noticed the eyes of a couple of the men slipping southwards. Not an uncommon occurrence. "He will be a member of a gym, where he will be competitive. There may have been complaints about him being aggressive toward other men who he sees as competition, and by women who he may stare at. However, he has not always been this way. As a high school pupil he will have been thin to the point of being called weedy. He will not have been chosen for any sports teams and will have been teased because of his stature." She took a step back, resuming her place next to Hotch, and Morgan noticed that she stood closer to him than to Rossi.

Rossi didn't move. "The UnSub's father will have been known to you. He will have been involved in domestic violence that was never proven, he will have been at the centre of bar fights, and he most likely will have had a drink problem. The UnSub's mother will have upped and left when the UnSub was in his mid to late teens, leaving the UnSub with his father who would have physically and mentally bullied him. He may well have had a sister whom he bullied himself. At some point during high school, he was rejected and humiliated by one of the popular girls, and we know she would have had brown eyes and would have been in her junior year. This is how he chooses his victims; he is seeking revenge for this rejection."

"He has been harbouring violent thoughts for most of his life, and the rape and murder of Isabel Malone is not his first violent act. He will have acted aggressively toward past girlfriends, and there will have been a change in his their behaviour once the relationship has started," Emily said, her voice authoritative. She'd hated doing this at first, he remembered. Now it was second nature. "His relationships will have ended badly, and there may have been reports of stalking or aggressive behaviour following the break-up."

Reid stood forward, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "He has recently undergone some form of 'stresser', an incident which has created a compulsion to become more violent than before. We suspect that his most recent girlfriend has undergone an abortion, thus making the UnSub feel out-of-control," Reid said, the hand that was out of his pocket gesticulating madly. "He seeks out his victims via the media; school publications and website and the local press. He is looking for brown-eyes girls that remind him of his initial rejection. He abducts them easily as he knows their routines, and it's probable that he has chosen his next victim before he has dumped the body of his last. He holds them hostage for around four week. This length of time is important to him as it's the amount of time he thinks he needs to get them pregnant. Amy and Isabel were both in the very early stages of pregnancy when they were killed. He also has a place where he is able to keep the girls without them being heard or there being any chance of visitors. This place will be accessible by car, and he will own a four wheeled drive or a pick up that may also be used for work."

Morgan let Reid's words settle in, looks of disgust on the officer's faces. "His first two murders, that of Isabel and Amy, showed signs of rage and overkill through the amount of times he stabbed them. He also disposed of the bodies in areas that were more remote, lacking confidence and possibly wanting to spend time with them. He may also have taken photographs of the scene so he can relive it."

"He has now developed a taste for the kill." Hotch began again. "He likes to watch his victims die, so chooses to stab them in areas away from arteries, meaning they bleed out slowly. He keeps them for up to a week before transporting the bodies in a large - probably 150 litre- rucksack to a place of importance for him. The bodies of the first two victims showed post mortem trauma to the bones as his manipulated them to get them into a smaller space. The last two victims were positioned before rigor mortis set in, making them easier to transport."

"Because he is starting to enjoy the kill," Morgan said, "the victim type is becoming less important to him, and the feelings of control and power are taking over. He is evolving rather than devolving and he is becoming confident. He may become over confident and fail to conceal his actions. Be on the lookout for reports of attempted abductions, and do not rely on the two week gap between a body being discovered and a new girl being taken. He will have already chosen his next victim and the urge to kill will be growing stronger each time, shortening the length of time he can wait."

Hotch began the conclusion. "When speaking to him, he comes across as being domineering but likeable. He is also becoming more confident at work and socially. At some point, one or more of you will have come across this man. His is a violent, sexual sadist whose previous victims have always withdrawn any complaint they have made, not necessarily to the police, but to student counselling services or anonymous help lines. He is going to kill again. We urgently need a suspect list from you. Anyone who you have thought of during the profile, anyone whose name has come into your head, please tell us. Detective Winters will issue you your roles."

Morgan looked around the rest of the team. He had that sinking feeling he got when he knew it was going to get worse before it got better, and by the look on everyone's faces, they felt the same.

_Way back when I first started writing Fanfiction (nearly 4 years ago) I used to put a dream sequence into most of my Tamora Pierce fics, as it suited the genre. This is a little bit of a homage to those, as I used to love delving into the character's psyche, and it's probably the last proper fic I'll write for a while at least, as I need to return to the 'Novel'!_

_I really could do with some encouragement – please review!_


	8. Chapter 8

_As usual, thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter. The chapters grow in length from here on in- I hope they're not too long._

_This will be the last update for a week, as I'm taking 36 year 11's (second year high school, I think) to the WW1 Battlefields of Belgium and France, and won't have internet access till I'm back. It'd be nice to return to lots of reviews though!!_

_Miks pointed out the connection between next week's CM episode and what's going on in this fic! I didn't know what was planned until I watched the preview online!!_

_Thank you again to __**Lily Moonlight**__, and if you like CSI:NY, go check out her fics! _

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil.' – Aristotle.

Chapter 8

"You might be interested in this."

Hotch looked at the young officer in front of him, her dark hair pinned up neatly, her uniform immaculate.

"My partner thinks I'm wasting your time by telling it you."

"Is that your partner near the door?" He quickly looked up to the man whose coat was tightly buttoned up, his expression disgruntled and had an air of boredom about him.

"Yes, sir. It is."

"Tell me, then I'll decide whether you're wasting my time."

She shifted from foot to foot, looking nervous. "Two days before Jenni went missing there was an attempted abduction of another girl, Sophie Tucker, who lives by the lake with her mom. My partner and I were called out, but the mother played the whole incident down."

"What colour eyes does Sophie have?"

"Brown."

"And how old is she?"

"Sixteen."

A junior in high school. "Why do you think the mother played it down?"

"At the time she was seeing this guy who is known to be a sleaze. Sophie was the one who called the police, but her mom wouldn't let us in, saying Sophie had made it up to get attention, that she was jealous of the new boyfriend, etcetera." She put her hands in her pockets, clearly more relaxed.

"Any reason the mom wouldn't want you in the house?"

"The boyfriend. He's a known user and she had a bloody nose so she was covering something up. They've split up now; she made him move out after he started stealing from her. He took the TV to start with."

"I don't suppose you know which school Sophie goes to?"

She nodded. "It's St James', but you won't find her their today. There's just been a bulletin to say it's been closed for the day as their central heating has broken down. They suspect it may be sabotage," she paused, a twinkle in her eye, "by the teachers."

He gave her a smile, despite himself. "Thank you. That information is extremely relevant. What's your name?" he asked, wanting to pass praise on to Winters about her.

"Katie Walsh. Two of your men already know that though. The one who fancies himself keeps making eyes at me, and the cute one thinks I'm gay," she shot him a smile along with the information. "Please tell him I'm not."

Hotch looked back down at his notes as she slipped back to her partner, mentally berating two of his subordinates. So _that_ was why Morgan smelled like he'd smashed a bottle of brut over himself. He stood up and catch Rossi's eye, gesturing toward their room. Within a minute his team were back together, along with Detective Winters and her deputy.

"Has any other information come in that we were unaware of?" he said, after briefly giving Officer Walsh's story.

"We've been given a few names," Morgan said. "I've already called Garcia and asked her to get background on them, but none of them fit the age range."

"There have been reports of a man hanging round two high schools. He was reported to have been in his twenties, but drove an old red Mercedes," JJ said. "No one got plates for it."

"I remember that," Detective Winters said. "He disappeared once cops started making regular patrols, and we figured it was more likely he was trying to sell drugs than check out the girls."

"We'll see if a red merc cross-references with any names we come up with," Rossi said. "We need to hit the schools, go interview teachers and school councillors. Let me and JJ do that, Hotch."

Hotch nodded. "Morgan and Reid, I want you to go up to the university and get the names of all the members of any walking hiking or mountain biking club. Find out if there are any other groups that might have an intimate knowledge of the area. Then make your way over to the rangers and mountain rescue and get a list of names. Prentiss and I will go interview Miss Tucker, if you'll show us the way, Detective."

Outside was crisp and bright, golden leaves still falling from the trees and the evergreen Black Hills Spruce that were clustered along the path around the lake reminded him of Christmas. There was no guarantee that Sophie Tucker would be at home, although given that it wasn't quite ten o'clock he thought there was a very good chance that she could still be in bed.

Detective Winters left them heading in the right direction, needing to get back to organise a second wave of men she was bringing in to help patrol the area, and it left him alone with Prentiss. He could tell she was cold, even beneath the thick coat she had grabbed from the BAU before they left, and the hat and scarf that almost buried her. He felt like putting an arm around her shoulder and pulling her toward him, sharing body heat, but they weren't two lovers sharing a stroll besides beautiful scenery.

"It seems like she was an intended victim," Emily said, stuffing her hands deeper into her pockets. "He slipped up – we need to know how."

Hotch nodded, seeing the house come into view. It was old and in need of superficial repairs and painting. The empty trails of ivy crept along one side and it almost looked like a house from a fairy tale.

Emily knocked on the door, and a moment passed before a woman answered. Her hair was dyed blonde and she wore a dressing gown and last night's make-up. In her hand was a cigarette, unlit.

"I'm Agent Prentiss and this is Agent Hotcher. We're with the FBI. Can we come in?" Emily said, showing her I.D.

"He ain't here, you know. I got rid of him," the woman answered. "You won't find anything."

"We're actually here to talk to your daughter, and it's really cold out here – may we come in?" Prentiss was using her best persuasive tone, and it seemed to be working.

"There ain't no weather like the South Dakotan weather, missy," she held the door open and they walked into a surprisingly tidy and well-kept house. Hotch was surprised for once. "You thought it was going to be like the outside, didn't you? Or like me. I like a tidy house, makes you feel better."

He thought of his apartment and the piles of files on the carpet. His curtains were hardly ever opened and there was a layer of dust on the shelves and units. It was time to start over and stop berating himself. Emily had been right.

"A few weeks ago, officers received a call from your daughter, reporting an attempted abduction. We have reason to believe that it may be connected with the girls who have gone missing," he said, watching as the woman put down her cigarette. There were no ashtrays, so he figured she didn't smoke indoors. "We'd really like to speak with her about the incident."

Mrs Tucker nodded and stood up after a few seconds of thought. "I'll go call her. You know what teenagers are like..."

"There's no need, mom, I'm here."

Sophie Tucker was 5'7 and around 120lbs. Her blonde hair curled around her face and her eyes were doe-brown. Like the other four girls, she was stunningly pretty, yet her mannerisms were shy and pained.

"Sophie," Emily said, as the girl sat down, still wearing pyjamas and a dressing gown with tweetie-pie appliquéd onto it. "We need to know about the night a man tried to abduct you."

Sophie looked at her mother, who nodded then stood up, taking her cigarette with her and going outside. "I went outside to take the trash out one night when mom was at work. I felt weird, I'd felt weird all night, like someone was watching me, so when I went out I took the kitchen knife with me. She stopped, looking guilty. "I know I probably shouldn't have done – but."

"No one's saying you did anything wrong, Sophie. You probably saved your life," Emily said, leaning forward, resting her elbows on her thighs.

"When I was outside, I heard a noise, like someone was in the bushes. I dropped the trash and turned around, and then I saw him. He came at me, but I raised the knife. Then mom's car came up the drive – the idiot had hit her before she started her shift and she had a bloody nose so came home early – and he ran," she stopped, looking pale and tired.

"Can you remember anything about him?" Emily said, her voice soft and gentle.

"I wish I could forget. I dream about him every night. He was tall, really tall. And he had broad shoulders. He wore all black and a black balaclava. I couldn't really see his eyes, it was too dark outside," Sophie glanced at Hotch, then at Emily. "After he ran – he went down the path, toward the trees – I thought I heard a car start."

"After how long?" Hotch prompted.

"About twenty seconds."

"Did you see a weapon?" Emily said. "Was he carrying anything?"

"He had a white hanky or towel in his hand. I think that's why I noticed him. It was so dark outside, I could barely see him," Sophie was becoming tearful and Emily left her seat to put an arm around her. "He would have killed me like he did those other girls, wouldn't he?"

"But he didn't. You got away and he didn't hurt you. And we'll make sure he doesn't hurt you," Emily said, rubbing her shoulder. "Sophie, you've been brilliant, but I need to ask you to do one more thing for me." The girl looked up. "I need you to show me where he was stood. Go and get yourself wrapped up first – it's cold out there."

Sophie gave her a smile and went back up the stairs.

"Chloroform," Hotch said. "That's how he abducts them with no fuss. He sneaks up on them and puts a rag over their mouths. And he didn't need to park close to this house – no one would have seen him drag Sophie away."

"Thank God for her mother and her deadbeat boyfriend. Maybe they are good for something sometimes." Emily eyeballed the ceiling and sighed. "You think he left anything behind in the garden?"

"Possibly. If the front of the house is anything to go by, then the garden won't have been touched in years," he kept his voice low, hearing Sophie's footsteps on the stairs.

They followed her outside. The garden's boundaries were marked by bushes, and there were no gates, just gaps. Anyone could walk in. Sophie stood near the trash cans and Hotch could see her shaking; he wasn't sure if it was from the cold or fear.

"He came from over there." She pointed to the far corner, and Emily went over there, blue gloves on, and looked into the bushes.

"Hotch!" she called. "He's left his kit."

"Go back inside, Sophie. You've done really well," Hotch said.

Mrs Tucker opened the back door and looked at them. "You found something?"

Hotch nodded. "We'll have crime scene techs here in a few minutes. Sophie has been really helpful, Mrs Tucker. We will need to up the security around your house, send a few extra patrols by." He moved as he spoke, over to where Emily stood, holding a backpack.

"I'll get you some coffee, agents. Sophie, go take a shower. You're safe. I'm not going to let anyone touch you, am I?" She hustled her daughter back inside.

Hotch called it in, pleased that the crime scene officers would be there in five minutes, max. There was no way there would be any viable evidence on anything in the bag; autumn weather would have seen to that, but it would give them a further insight into his mind. "What's inside?"

"Bottle of chloroform with Chinese writing, which would make it an internet purchase, two rags, thin rope, a flask of what smells like... coffee and two bus timetables," Emily said, putting the bag back down.

"Which bus?"

"The one for Colby High and the one for St James'. All the different routes."

"Colby High was where Jenni went. He was stalking both of them."

"You think he'll come back for Sophie?" Her tone was anxious, and he could tell she wanted to mother the girl. If he instructed her to stay at the house, she would do it without question.

"It depends how paranoid he becomes. He clearly wasn't concerned about coming back for his kit, but if he gets wind that we've found it, he may want to remove a key piece of evidence." Hotch heard the sound of car engines growling and he took his blue gloves off. His cell began to ring. He pulled it out of his jacket inside pocket and saw the name.

"Garcia. What've you got?" he said, hearing the footfalls of the officers. Emily had walked round to meet them, and he could hear her explaining what had been found.

"The names of two women who went missing prior to Isabel. They were both students at the university and one of them had had an abortion two weeks before she went missing. I'm sending details to your handheld."

"Have it sent to Morgan, as well. He's on his way to the college now. Are you okay, Garcia?" He had never heard her so quiet on the phone before.

"I'm just fine and dandy, sir. Looking at pictures of murder victims is always my cup or tea, especially when they're young and pretty." Her tone was almost staccato.

"Why are you doing that, Garcia?" he said. He'd not asked her to plough through more pictures. He knew how it affected her, and he avoided giving her that task whenever possible.

"Morgan asked me to look for disappearances in the area, and I came across a couple of unsolveds from five years ago from that area. The bodies were dismembered and I don't want to say any more because I need to go back to my happy place." She was almost hyper-ventilating down the phone.

"It's okay, Garcia, you're doing a great job and I won't forget the chocolate," Hotch said, watching the crime scene techs begin trawling through the undergrowth.

"Chocolate. Chocolate – that makes everything better. Think of chocolate and fluffy bunnies," she hung up, her voice sounding more like Garcia.

He spoke briefly with the techs and then followed Emily into the house, where Sophie and her mom were sat in the lounge. Sophie looked much younger than her sixteen years, sat with her legs underneath her, curled into her mother.

"You must think I'm terrible, stopping Sophie from reporting it," Mrs Tucker said. "If I'd realised it was to do with the other girls, I'd have come forward, but I thought she was better trying to get over it."

Emily nodded, "I understand, Mrs Tucker. It's done now, and Sophie has helped us a lot, but we need to keep you safe, so an officer will be allocated to stay with you for the time being. If you or Sophie think of _anything_ else, please get in touch." She handed over her card, following Hotch out of the front door.

The air was crisp still, although it felt noticeably warmer. The sky above was grey, promising more snow flurries, and Hotch felt strange, as if waiting for something to happen, but he wasn't sure what. They walked in silence, following the lake round, both lost in thought.

Emily came to a halt, and stepped closer to the edge of the lake. She was looking beyond it, into where the dense forestry began, the dark native spruces painting the view an almost black.

"I'm worried about her, Aaron," she said as he came to stand beside her. He noticed that her skin was as pale as porcelain, and almost as delicate. This time he did reach out and touch her arm, a brief contact between colleagues; then he remembered their heated words the previous night, and his touch became more secure. "I'm worried that he might come back for her."

"You're right. He may do. But we have to stop him first," he said, feeling her ease under his touch.

"He's sullied this though, forever. It won't just be a beautiful town anymore, it'll be the place where those girls were murdered," her eyes left the trees and came to him. "A little more paradise destroyed."

"Is it?" he questioned her. "After a while the memories of what happened will dim, but everything else will be here still."

She gave him a smile. "Who swapped our roles? You're being the positive one." She began to walk again, and he followed, quickening the pace.

"Garcia's sent over some new information. Two women went missing from the university before the first victim was found. We need to go through the notes and see if they fit victimology," Hotch said, feeling a snow flake drop onto his skin. "I have a strange feeling that we're running out of time."

Emily nodded. "I know what you mean. I feel that way too."

They left the lake, sparkling grey with its icy crust, and the trees, waving softly in the autumn breeze that promised a wilder weather soon, a wilder time.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The rangers' office was exactly what Morgan had expected: four old, battered wooded desks, a couple of state of the art computers and a lot of energy bar wrappers.

"We've forty-two male rangers in total. Of those, only twelve are employed by the state, the rest are volunteers," Keir Patterson sat back in his chair and looked puzzled. "I know all of these men – and women – and I have done for some time. I can't see any of them being your guy."

"If everyone could spot a murderer then society would be a safer place," Morgan said, taking the seat opposite Keir. "You may be right. It might not be any of these men. But we need to eliminate them."

"We do have a few questions that could help us do that," Reid said. He'd been studying a dream catcher hanging at one of the windows. "Would you describe any of your rangers to be loners? Do any prefer to work by themselves?"

Keir looked down at the copy of the sheet he'd just given Morgan. "There are a few. You don't do a job like this unless you like two things: your own company, and the Hills. Brent Smith, Taylor Francis and Lee Fenwick never request partners even in bad weather. All three live alone, never married, and all three have been rangers for the best part of twenty years."

Morgan nodded. "It isn't them. They're out of the age range. What about people in their twenties? Kids that have maybe helped out over the summer?"

Keir shrugged. "We've a few volunteers in their twenties," he pointed their names out on Morgan's list. "But they like to do their job in pairs. We have a list of shifts each month that need filling, and they sign up. The only time one of them does it alone is when there's no one else to go with them."

"What about older men who may take their sons with them?" Reid said. "Men who've been here some years so their kids will know the routes and paths as well as they do."

"There was one man, Jackson Miller. He took his son out hiking every weekend. But the boy wasn't quite right. He lives in Rapid City now, with another man, and Jackson never sees him. Other than that, I can't help you. If anything comes to mind I'll let you guys know. I want this killer caught as much as you do – I've a daughter in high school and I can't sleep safe knowing there's a bastard out there killing little girls," Keir looked frustrated as he said the words and Morgan knew that any suspect list they produced would need to be kept under close wraps, else a vigilante attack would be unavoidable.

"We're going to get him, I can assure you of that," Morgan said, standing up and preparing to leave.

"I don't doubt it," Keir said. "But before or after he takes another child?"

Outside, the sun shone pitifully through the grey curtains of cloud, and Morgan shivered. "Damn, I should have brought a warmer coat," he said, looking up at the sky. "Something tells me that it's going to get colder."

"Garcia has predicted a three-day snowstorm," Reid said, studying the head ranger's sheet. "After that, it's meant to get slightly warmer until winter kicks in, in about a month's time."

"Let's hope we've got everything wrapped for then," Morgan said. "After this case, I think I'm going to take me some personal time somewhere nice and warm for a couple of days." He smiled at the thought of the sights warm weather could bring. "You done, kid? I'd like to get back to the car."

Reid nodded. "I'm going to have Garcia check these names for any prior convictions, as well as looking for sons who fit the profile based on age, location and gym memberships." Reid pulled out his cell, following Morgan a few footsteps behind. Morgan switched on the engine and turned the heat on max.

The university campus was pretty much self-contained, making the ten mile distance between it and the town centre of Calverville Point seem less of an issue. Morgan couldn't understand why students had chosen to go there; there were few bars or clubs, the shops were limited and it was only a small college. He shook his head as Reid recited facts about the quality of the geography department, and the research done by the history faculty into Native American life in the mid 1800's.

"Kid, you come here if you can't get in anywhere else," Morgan said, looking at the campus from the car park.

"That's not entirely true," Reid said. "It is the second or third choice for about 45 % of students who come here, but for 55% it's their preferred college. It's only small and very new, but several of the faculties have extremely good reputations already."

"Okay, research boy. What courses are easy to get into, they don't require good grades to study?" Morgan said. "They hadn't discussed the UnSub's level of intelligence in depth yet. But Morgan figured it wasn't genius.

"Sports sciences," Reid said. "The average GPS for entering students here on that course is one of the lowest I've seen." Reid paused. "You think our UnSub's a student."

"I do. And I also think he's local. He's chosen here either because he didn't have the funds to move away, or it was the only place that would accept him," Morgan said as they approached the administration area.

"But that puts him at the lower age range of our profile. Our UnSub is unlikely to be less than 22." Morgan could almost hear Reid's brain ticking. "Unless he's a mature student."

"What's the statistics on mature students here? I bet they're higher than average."

"You're right. 26% of students at this college are late starters. We should call Hotch."

"No, Reid. It's just us speculating at the moment. Let's get some names first and then see what fits," Morgan rang the bell for attention a second time. If he had to press it a third, and be kept standing near that open door any longer, he was going to be in a bad mood when someone did come to see to them.

"Yes, sir. How can I help?" The lady who appeared at the desk was brunette and buxom, and around fifty years old.

"I'm Agent Morgan, and this is Dr Reid with the FBI. We need to speak with Paul Michaels, the dean. He is expecting us," Morgan flashed his credentials while Reid was still taking in the scenery. He hated to think what thoughts his super-mind was processing, he just hoped it was relevant and helped them get a quick break.

"Come through. Paul said he was expecting someone. It's about those girls, isn't it?" She opened the door into the offices and led them down a long corridor, still new and pristine. "We're just praying that he doesn't change to attacks on students. As a new college, we don't want people being deterred from coming here. I'm Winnie, by the way."

Morgan flashed her a hundred watt smile. He knew that keeping her on their side as much as possible was going to be key to getting the information they needed. "Are you the Dean's assistant?"

She smiled and nodded. "I help out on the desk one lunchtime a week, which is how you caught me. I was just eating a sandwich, which is why it took me so long to get there. The Dean has a meeting after lunch and I'm required to take the minutes." She knocked on a door with the name 'Paul Michaels' on it and waited for a response before entering. "The FBI are here, Paul. Agent Morgan and Dr Reid."

The dean was a man in his sixties, his silver hair combed over a pinkish bald patch and wrinkles creasing his skin. Morgan saw the signs of a heavy smoker, and felt the cold of an open window. "Have a seat and tell me what I can do to help." Michaels looked at Reid and gave a brief smile. "Dr Spencer Reid?" Reid nodded. "I've read some of your papers. I don't suppose while you're here, you'd consider doing a guest lecture?"

Reid smiled and Morgan resisted rolling his eyes. "I've have to okay it with my boss, but I'd love to."

"Super. And now to business." He looked at them with steel grey eyes that matched the sky, waiting for them to begin.

"We need access to student records," Morgan began. "Specifically records of male students from this area."

"That's not a problem. I'll ask Winnie to see that's printed for you before you leave. What else?"

"Do you have records of students involve in walking and trekking societies?" Reid asked. "I think I read that there are twelve walking groups?"

Michaels shrugged. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know. The clubs and societies recruit during Freshers' week, and do submit a list of members shortly after that when they apply for funding, but it's student services who will have the details of that. I can give them a call and have them pull what information they've got."

Morgan nodded. "That would be helpful." He paused, studying the man. He hadn't weighed him up yet; on the surface he was cooperative and polite, but something was noticeable beyond his exterior. Morgan made a note to ask Garcia to pull what information she could on him. "Two female students went missing from here eight months ago. Emile Landiere and Carrie Jennings. Where can we speak to someone about them?"

"I can have Winnie pull their tutor lists, and the names of girls they roomed with. I'm happy for you to ask any questions you need. Now, is there anything else I can help you with?" Michaels looked down at his paperwork, a clear hint for them to leave.

"No, thank you," Reid said, stiltedly. "That's been very useful."

Winnie appeared at the door, smiling at them. "If you follow Winnie, she'll sort everything for you," Michaels said before running through what they needed.

They were left to sit on white faux leather chairs near Winnie's office, immediately under an air conditioning vent, chilling Morgan's bones even more. "This town just doesn't want me to be warm," he muttered, pulling his jacket around him tighter.

"I don't think the town cares one way or another, Morgan. You've just not dressed appropriately," Reid said. "We'll be back at the station soon. If you've any luck, _Katie_ will make you a coffee." Reid's eyes danced annoying. Since Hotch had relayed Katie's message that morning, Reid had taken to grinning knowingly at him whenever he got the opportunity.

"Screw you, Reid. You have a girl who thinks you're cute so you think she must be gay?" Morgan glared at him, then looked away as Winnie came returned with several pieces of paper.

"You've a lot to go through there, young men. 243 male students who are from this area originally. And the details on Carrie and Emile. They were both sweet girls," she handed them the papers.

Reid took them. "Did you know them?"

Winnie shrugged. "Sort of. They were both in the same dorm, both in their second year. Carrie hadn't been having a good time of it, or so my son said, so when she disappeared we just assumed she'd gone home. When Emmy went five days later, we figured she was missing her best friend. They'd come here together from some small town in Oregon."

"Your son?" Reid said. "He's a student here?"

"He is indeed. Christopher Winston Hughes. He's studying history and doing well. If you want any information on the two girls I can have him come into the station and see you. We don't live too far from there," Winnie offered, her manner the small town friendliness that Morgan had come to almost like.

"How did he know Carrie and Emile?" Morgan said, tapping his foot.

"They were all in the Assassins Guild together as freshers. It when you have a target and shoot them with a water pistol anywhere but lectures. My son's a bit of a law unto himself, introverted and very studious and shy. Carrie and Emmy took him under their wing. He was devastated when they disappeared," she said, a sorrowful smile painting her face.

Reid handed her his card. "Ask him to come into the station after his lectures have finished. We'd be interested to talk to him."

They walked outside, where the frosted sky had cracked open and was beginning to leak snow. "Let's get back to the station and send these names to Bat Girl and she can do her thing," Morgan said, walking as quickly as he could to the car. "Fingers crossed they like their rooms hotter at the station than they do here."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Whoever was in the room next door had stopped screaming hours ago, and he wondered why. He was cold, even though the woman had thrown a blanket over him, and he knew the temperature outside had dropped. How long had he been here? He wasn't sure. It felt like a lifetime. He wondered whether he had been missed yet, whether anyone had noticed he hadn't been back to the motel, but there wasn't anyone there to miss him. He'd paid for the room upfront, told the manager he was going walking, and until someone went into his room to clean it for the next guest, they'd never know he hadn't returned.

By that time it would probably be too late.

He was in a cellar, that he was sure of. After he had gotten into the car he'd been driven to a house, a ranch, twenty minutes out of the town. She'd taken him to bed, letting him be dominant, making him be rough and letting him do all the things his ex-wife had said no to.

Then he's fallen asleep, and when he woke he was blindfolded and in a cold room. There had been echoes when he'd screamed, the first time the man had been in. It had been a pain like he'd never felt, the memory of it still shocking, still paralysing.

He felt the chains around his wrists and ankles pull as he moved slightly. He knew he was going to die.

_Please review, pretty please..._


	9. Chapter 9

_I'm back! So nice to be back in England, even though Belgium and France were excellent, and the kids we took were the best ever!_

_Hope you enjoy – please review if you can! Thank you to all those who reviewed so far – I'm behind on my review replies, I do apologise._

_Thanks once again to __**Lily Moonlight!**_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'Fear is an emotion indispensable for survival.' –Hannah Arendt.

Chapter 9

"Hi, Jenna. I'm Agent Jareau and this is Agent Rossi. We have a few questions we'd like to ask you," JJ looked at the girl sat in front of her. She looked nervous and apprehensive and to be honest, that would have been exactly how JJ felt when confronted by two FBI agents at the age of 16.

"What can you tell us about Amy?" JJ said. "What was she like?" This was their third high school, and the same responses were coming from everybody. No, they had not seen anyone acting suspiciously; no, there had been no change in the girls' personalities; the girls were lovely, popular and bright and no, they didn't have serious boyfriends.

"Amy was... quiet," Jenna said. "She didn't like going out much, she preferred to stay in and study or read. She wanted to be a doctor when she finished college."

"Did Amy say anything to you about being followed, or thinking that someone was watching her?" Rossi said. He'd left most of the questioning of students to her, clearly thinking that they were more likely to respond to a female. He had grilled the guidance counsellors and teachers instead.

Jenna looked away from them, then nodded. "She said she thought Mandy Simmons boyfriend was following her. She wasn't sure though. He's at college and Amy met him at a party her older brother had and he started going out with Mandy. Amy thought she saw him outside her house, getting out of his car and looking up at her window. It freaked her out."

"Have you told anyone this before?" JJ said.

Jenna shook her head. "I thought she was being paranoid, or making it up to get attention, or annoy Mandy. Amy and Mandy never got along."

"What's changed your mind?" Rossi said, his voice as gentle as he could make it.

Jenna began to cry, her shoulders shaking. JJ moved around the table, putting an arm around the girl's shoulders. "What is it, Jenna? No one's going to be mad at you and you haven't done anything. Tell me what it is."

"I've seen him too," the girl sobbed. "I saw him outside my house, looking up at the window. Does that mean he's going to take me?"

JJ rubbed her shoulders, looking at Rossi. Jenna was verging on the hysterical; they'd get no more information out of her until she calmed down. "No one is going to hurt you, Jenna. I promise you." She handed the girl a tissue. "We need you to tell us some more information so we can catch him. What is Mandy's boyfriend called?"

"Gregory Newton," Jenna said shakily. "I'm not sure it was him though."

"Why not?" JJ said. "What made you think it wasn't?"

"It was a different car than what he drives. Greg has a VW, and this was an SUV. Amy was rubbish with cars, she wouldn't have noticed, but my dad's a mechanic..." she began to cry again, her brown eyes becoming red-rimmed.

"Jenna, have you had your photo in the media recently; or somewhere where someone outside of your family could see it?" JJ asked. Jenna had not been on Garcia's list of names of brown-eyed juniors in the media, and JJ was certain that Garcia would not have made a mistake.

Jenna nodded. "It was my sixteenth birthday in June and my parents had a banner made and hung it up outside the house. It had my photo on."

JJ looked across at Rossi, who had sat up straight, his eyes wide. They had just caught a break.

"I need you to think carefully. Where did your parents get the banner from?" she said, lowering her head so she could look Jenna in the eye.

Jenna shrugged. "I think it was Posters 4U. It's where everyone gets theirs from."

"Did Amy have one for her birthday?" Rossi asked, standing up.

"We all did. Nearly everyone in our class had one for their 16th," she nodded. "That's how he's choosing his girls, isn't it?"

Neither of them answered.

"I'm going to call Hotch," Rossi said. "Then Garcia." He left the room, leaving JJ with Jenna, who had stopped crying and now looked pale, her eyes terrified.

"Jenna, we won't let him get you. You have to trust us. When did you last see him?"

"Three nights ago. I heard my dog barking so I looked outside and saw him. I thought it looked a bit like Greg, but he was taller and he looked older," she choked back more tears.

"What time was it?"

"About nine-thirty. I had just finished my math homework."

"Did you tell your mom or dad?" JJ said, moving the girl's hair away from her face.

"I told my mom, and she said it was just Mac who lived next door. She looked out but he was gone," Jenna said. "I'd seen him before though, near the bus stop when I came home late from school. We'd had a self-defence class as an after school thing so I got a later bus."

"What day was that?"

"It was a Monday, as I had to cancel my piano lesson."

"Okay, Jenna, I'm going to call your parents and let them know what's happened. You will be perfectly safe here in school, it's the safest place you can be right now. When school finishes tonight, your mom or dad will pick you up and we'll have a police car near your house to keep an eye on thing. You have to remember that he has only taken girls when they have been alone. Make sure you are with someone all the time. Don't go off alone." JJ gave her hand a squeeze and stood up. "I'm going to leave you in here and ask the principal if one of your friends can come sit with you."

She went outside, finding Rossi stood looking impatient. "I think this is going to aggravate him, JJ," he said. "If he can't get to the girl he's stalking because she's being protected, then he may just go for whatever he can get."

JJ nodded. She wasn't a profiler, but she was intelligent, and she agreed with Rossi's theory. "I'm also assuming that the list of possible targets has increased."

"It's risen by over fifty. Brown is the most common eye colour, and a lot of girls in the past six months celebrated their sweet sixteenth." He nodded at the principal as she walked passed to check on her student. "I've filled her in on what's happening. Thankfully, she seems a sensible woman. We just need to call Jenna's parents and then head on up to Breeze High School."

"I'm going to call Hotch to suggest we set up a press conference about keeping these girls safe. After our presence around the high schools, it's going to be common knowledge that we're working the murdered girls," she said, her mind running at the speed of light, composing what she would say to the media. "Can you drop me off at the station, Dave? You might need to do Breeze by yourself."

"I'll take Emily," he said. "She and Hotch are at the station already. She'll probably be thankful for a break away from the boss."

"Why do you say that?" JJ's interest was piqued, momentarily taken away from the upcoming feeding of the vultures.

"I heard them having a rather... well, it sounded like an argument, last night in Hotch's room. I don't think it was a _professional_ conversation," Rossi said. JJ sometimes forgot that it was Dave who was the biggest gossip instead of Garcia.

She shook her head. "Emily would have told me if there was something going on," she said, frowning.

"I didn't say there _was_ something going on, JJ," his eyes twinkled. "I think the issue is that there _isn't_ something going on." Rossi paused at the school office where she needed to go to get the number for the parents.

"Maybe a little a romance to profile would cheer us all up," she said, as a school secretary answered her knock. "Especially Emily and Hotch."

-------------------------------------------------------

Snowflakes danced hypnotically across the window pane, some adhered to it for the last moments of their lives, the heat from inside melting them. Some built up, clinging together for cold comfort, and Emily wondered how long it would be before they would need spades to dig themselves out of the station.

She replaced the handset, having just called another parent to let them know that their daughter could be a target of the man that had butchered four other girls. "He looks for birthday banners and stalks them," she said, almost to herself. "Finds out about their family, their routines, and takes them when they're vulnerable. But he hasn't gone inside a house yet."

"That's not to say he won't," Hotch said and passed her a cup of coffee. "It depends on how desperate he gets. We need to make sure that Sophie and her mom don't go to the press. It may antagonise him."

She turned from staring at the window and looked at her boss. "You think he's going to try to take another girl sooner, don't you?" Her tone was almost accusatory.

He nodded. "The town is buzzing with what's happened. Our inquiries are making people more nervous. He will have heard all of this, no matter how much of a loner he is. I think he'll try to take his next victim in the next couple of days."

She sipped the coffee even though it was too hot, then became slightly aware of Hotch's close proximity to her. It was nothing unusual. They partnered each other a lot, because as he had said last night, they worked well together, but he was standing closer than Rossi would, or Reid. "It's going to be a long night, isn't it?"

Hotch glanced out of the window. "And a cold one. Those rooms weren't that warm last night."

"I have an extra blanket in my room. You can have that," she said, looking at the next number on the list. "This is the last one."

"When you've spoken to them, we should go over the information Garcia's found on the two missing girls from the college," he said, moving away from her. "I'm not convinced yet it's connected. They are twenty years old, and knew each other. None of the other victims are connected apart from the banners and appearance. Both these girls were blonde."

Emily made short work of informing a mother that her daughter was the killer's type. The mom was practical and unflustered and positive that they would catch him before anyone else came to harm. Emily just hoped that her belief would be justified.

"What've we got?" she said, sitting in the seat next to Hotch and looking over his shoulder.

He spread out the papers. "Both disappeared without a trace within five days of each other. They didn't go home, didn't withdraw any money apart from $200 the day after they went missing, and have made no contact since. A bit like the men that have gone missing."

"You think that the men and the college students are connected?" Emily said. "I would say that our second UnSub prefers men and is either homosexual or has homosexual tendencies and is fighting them."

"I don't think they're connected. I agree with your theory about the UnSub, but why there has to be a way he abducts them? Anyway," he shook his head slightly. "We'll go through that tonight."

"My room this time," she said. "Might stop us shouting knowing Henry's next door."

He gave a barely noticeable nod. "Emily, have a look at Reid's map. Can you plot the dorm – it's called Calver Hall."

She unscrolled the map and found the place quickly. "Got it."

"The girls were last seen near their dorms, five days apart. What's near to the building?"

"Three hiking trails begin from there and rise straight up into the Hills. There's a lot of dense forestry." She looked at him. "Practise run? Maybe he knew Carrie, was even dating her, lost his temper one night and she disappeared. Emile got suspicious and confronted him."

"Maybe Carrie was the trigger. It could have been her who was pregnant." Hotch pulled out his cell. "Garcia. Did Carrie Jennings check into a doctors or clinic for an abortion in the weeks before her disappearance? I need you to be super fast with this, Garcia." As he waited, Emily found that he was watching her, and felt her cheeks redden under his gaze. "Thanks, Garcia." He nodded.

"Carrie had an abortion," Emily said, feeling the same wrenching pain she had grown used to over the years, the same empathy for anyone who'd had to make that decision.

"Three weeks before she disappeared. There's something else, Emily. If you look at the dump sites, the bodies were positioned so they faced west. If he went back to them, he could have looked at them whilst facing the sunset. That will be the romance for him," he glanced outside. "We need to get a search team out there before the weather worsens. Winters is outside, I'm going to tell her to get her men together."

Emily shivered as he opened the door, only for Rossi and JJ to take his place in the room. Emily filled them in quickly, her hands clasping the still warm mug of coffee. She had only finished when Hotch burst back through the door.

"Rossi, I need you on the search with me. And Morgan when he gets back. JJ, your press conference is all sorted; don't give anything away about the missing students. If anything is asked about the missing men, explain that we are also investigating that, but the missing girls are taking precedence. Emily, stay with JJ, then go up to Breeze High and finish the interviews. We still need to be thorough."

They nodded, and felt rather thankful that she would not be outside in the cold. She shivered.

"Prentiss," Hotch's voice came from the doorway. "Call in a pharmacy and get yourself some cold medicine. You look flushed." His eyes contradicted the harsh use of her last name, and she recognised a softness that was no longer as rare. As the door banged shut, she turned and looked at JJ, whose eyebrows were raised extremely high.

"You know," Emily said. "If the wind changes, your face will stay that way."

"And if I wasn't speaking with most of the media in South Dakota, you would have some explaining to do right now."

"Explaining about what?" Morgan fell through the door.

"Back out, Derek. You need to catch up with Hotch. He'll brief you," Emily said, thankful for an excuse to get rid of him.

"Aw, man. I already have frozen..."

"Go!" she shouted, making a rather warmer looking Reid, stand back in false apprehension.

"And where should I be?" he said.

"Heading in the same direction, I think," JJ took out a pocket mirror and checked her reflection. "It's time to face the press."

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"Hotch, man, wait up!"

Hotch slowed slightly, hearing Morgan's feet crunching the deepening snow. "Did Prentiss tell you what we've got?"

Morgan shook his head, then used his hand to wipe the snow off his scalp.

"The two missing girls..."

"Emile Landiere and Carrie Jennings. The dean's secretary told us a little about them. Her son was a friend of theirs," Morgan interrupted.

"I think I know where they might be." Hotch opened the doors to the black vehicle and they jumped inside, Reid rushing to catch up. "Detective Winters is meeting us at the start of the Farrington Trail near to the girls' dorm rooms. _If_ the UnSub killed Emile and Carrie, their bodies are going to be in a secluded spot, about a mile off one of the trails in that area. He's probably left them together. Reid, get Garcia on the line and ask her to get satellite over where we're heading. I want GPS points for any places that provide a view of the sunset."

The significance of the dump sites had occurred to him when they looked at the map. They had all faced west. The UnSub would sit and look at the victim whilst the sunset in the background.

"Who the hell is that behind us?" Hotch said, catching a glance at the new Mercedes right behind them.

"Judging by the registration, my guess is that it's the mayor," Rossi said. "Hotch, pull over. See what he wants."

Hotch indicated, in no mood for politics. The Mercedes almost failed to break in time as Hotch slowed, screeching to a halt.

"Is there a particular reason you are trying to run my team off the road?" he said, allowing an impatient tone of iron into his voice as the mayor came round to his window.

"Are you Agent Hotchner?" The mayor was small and round, his face showing the signs of too much alcohol and too rich much food.

"I am, and at the moment you are stopping me getting to a potential murder scene," he felt annoyance bubble under his skin, in much the same way he had when idiot politicians had endangered Emily and Reid in Colorado.

"You haven't even come to see me and you've been in the town two days. My son is _missing, _possibly still alive, and you're not doing a damn thing about it! You're not going anywhere until you tell me what you're going to do..." his face reddened, looking about to burst.

Hotch resisted the urge to stick his hand out of the window and grab hold of his tie. "You are impeding a federal investigation and I suggest you get back in your car, turn around and go home. Get as much information on your son as possible, including any offshore accounts he holds, and an agent will come see you as soon as we have one available."

"As soon as you have one available? Do you know who I am?" The mayor's face puckered in anger.

"Quite frankly, I don't care who you are. Get out of my way, or I'll arrest you." He revved the engine.

A young woman walked beside him, her face concerned and cold. "Get back in the car, dad," she said. "We'll sort this later."

"Damn right we'll sort this later," he said, glaring at Hotch before turning round.

"If he's not had a coronary by then," Hotch heard Morgan mutter. He put his foot down, catching sight of the lights on Detective Winters' car half a mile in front.

"The first two victims, Isabel and Amy, were found places where they wouldn't be found that easily. It's not until the third and fourth victims that he became more confident and left them in more open spaces. But they're will still be some space around them, he will have needed the room," Hotch said, checking the rear view. The Mercedes had gone back to the town.

"He's a sexual sadist, Hotch. He will have gotten off on torturing them. If these are his first kills, then they taught him that he enjoyed their fear," Morgan said. "He will have still bound them, possibly to a tree, and the second kill would have been the best."

"Because Emile would have been looking at Carrie's body, knowing what was going to happen to her," Rossi said, disgust in his voice.

Hotch put the wipers on full, shifting the snow that was now coming down quickly. "This may be futile," he said. "The weather's worsening."

"We may catch a lucky break," Rossi said. "And we're nearly there. There's Detective Winters."

"Agent Hotcher," she called. "I have four teams of men made up of the older rangers and officers. We need more of an idea where to look."

"Hotch!" Reid interrupted. "Garcia's sent me some starting points. She's given me six set of GPS coordinates, all of which have a lookout over the east and are about a mile off the nearest path."

Hotch stood back as Winters gave the information out to the teams. He was conscious of the weather and the need to have _his_ team at full strength. Emily already looked as if she was about to come down with a bug, even if she hadn't realised it yet. He knew her well enough to tell. "Reid, you go with Detective Winters. Rossi, go with team C and Morgan, team B." He looked at the fourth team, who were stood there, their faces grim. "Let's go," he said. And they went, heading off into the snowy blackness, the wind's soft murmur sounding lonely in the vast emptiness.

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"That went well," Emily said, as JJ followed her back into their conference room. "No tricky questions."

"And a lot of support," JJ said, looking relieved. "The media are being extremely cooperative, which makes a nice change." She put her hands in her pockets and Emily braced herself for the inquisition.

It didn't arrive. "We should head up to the school. Maybe we can get something to eat there," JJ said. "And you do look pale. You should get some cold meds."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Don't you start. I'll pick some up later. I do have a sore throat," she confessed. "Let's get in the car."

She drove with the radio on, listening to the news bulletins that were now filling the air waves, all reporting on the description of the UnSub and preventative measures. The weather report followed, predicting a severe snow storm, and she thought of Hotch and the rest out in the woods. "We'd better stock up on cold meds for Morgan too," she said, flicking the radio off as it began to play country music.

The school was twenty miles away, and given the driving conditions, they'd barely covered five in fifteen minutes. She saw JJ glancing at her and sighed in exasperation. "What do you want to know? You may as well spit it out now."

"Rossi said you and Hotch had a bit of a heated discussion last night in his room. I wanted to know what you weren't sharing," JJ said.

Emily saw the small, amused smile on her friend's lips and groaned. She was useless as keeping secrets. That had always been part of her problem; she was too open. "We did some work on the missing men case late last night in his room, and we ended up telling each other a few home truths. There's nothing there, JJ. He needs to move on from Haley, which is what I told him."

"And what did he tell you?"

"Something about why I didn't have meaningless sex because I didn't mind being lonely." She tried to focus more on the road and less on Hotch's words.

"Hotch is interested in your sex life?" JJ said. Even without looking, Emily could tell that JJ's eyes were glowing with delight at the thought.

"No, Hotch isn't interested in my sex-life. He was profiling me, it wasn't _personal_!" All she needed was that little snippet going back to Garcia and that would be all she would here until she resigned from the BAU.

"_Personal!_" JJ said. "How can you say him profiling you isn't _personal_? He partners you with him nearly all the time..."

"That's because we work well together," Emily interrupted, slowing down to take a sharp corner.

"And you work well together because you study each other," JJ said, her voice now at a normal volume.

"Like we all study each other..."

"No, Emily. I do not look at Morgan or Reid the same way you look at Hotch. Nor do I stand that close to them, and when you do work together, when you interview suspects, you read each other's minds. He's the first person you look for when you enter a room," JJ said, sounding a little too happy about it for Emily's liking.

"Bullshit!" Emily said, glancing at the map on JJ's knee and wondering how long was left of the journey. "We had a bit of a shout at each other, and said some things we wouldn't have done under normal circumstances."

"Hmmm," JJ said, the left a short gap of silence. "'Fess up, Em. I promise I won't tell."

Emily sighed. She had been avoiding thinking about this all day. "You swear on Henry's life you won't breathe a word of this conversation to another living soul, including Garcia?"

"I swear," JJ said, laughing. "How old are we Emily?"

"Old enough to know that developing feelings for your boss isn't good."

"Even when they're reciprocated?"

"They're not." Emily saw a sign for the high school. She sent a swift thank you to which ever god was currently on duty.

"I disagree. And I'm not the only one. Hotch was over Haley before they were divorced, he's just not gotten over the guilt yet," JJ said.

"Oh, I know that," Emily said, her tone self-deprecating. "And I told him as much last night. I also accused him of wanting to have an affair with Kate Joyner when he was in England."

"Good going, Em," JJ said. "Classic moves."

"They weren't moves. And now you can assure yourself that Aaron Hotcher thinks of me as his _subordinate_, and only as his subordinate. I will die a lonely death," she added, rather melodramatically, pulling over in what she thought was a parking bay, only the lines were obscured by snow. "Say nothing, Jareau. I know a thousand and one ways to kill you, and have a friend who'll take care of your body." Humour was always the best solution to bury a situation.

"This conversation isn't over," JJ said, slamming the car door shut, and following Emily into the school. "You couldn't harm a fly."

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Morgan wondered if being subjected to extreme temperatures had an adverse effect on the possibilities of becoming a father as he avoided tripping over the roots of a rather large tree into a small clearing.

It was his team's second location, and they had now been walking and searching for nearly an hour. He looked around the site at the trunks of the trees, certain that he'd see markings if one of them had been used to help tie someone. Nothing was visible. He moved until he stood facing east, looking through a gap in the blanket of trees out over the fields, or as much as he could see through the snow.

"I want to see her with the sun behind her," he said, his eyes scanning the ground. The thickness of the trees meant that there had only been a light scattering of snow, and Morgan could see piles of leaves and branches in various places on the forest floor.

Then he saw rope.

The tiniest sliver of rope was coiled next to a pile of snowy leaves, like a dead snake, its poison sapped. "Over here!" he shouted. "They're over here!"

Leaves were brushed away, branches moved and bone uncovered. Two skulls, a few tangles of blonde hair nearby, and a detritus of bone. He could see knife marks on what were the thigh bones, too neat to be the markings of animal's teeth.

"Hotch," he said into his cell. "We've found them. Call everyone off. We've found Carrie and Emile."

The snow continued to fall as he walked back, now numbed to the cold, warmed by anger and determination to catch the bastard who had already taken too many lives.

_If you enjoyed it, let me know! I do accept anonymous reviews too!_

_Sarah_


	10. Chapter 10

_Thank you as usual to those who have reviewed the previous chapters! It is really nice to get reviews and it does spur you on write more._

_I'd be really amazingly hopping-ly happy if I could reach 100 reviews on this chapter!! (Not that I'm a review whore or anything :__)_

_Belgium and France were brill, thank you to those who asked. We toured the WW1 Battlefields with a group of year 11 students (yep, I'm a teacher) and it was incredible – but it did take me away from writing for a week!_

_Thanks again to __**Lily Moonlight**__ for the read through!_ _And let me point you in the direction of **The Fabulous Mrs Cole Turner's **story, The Audacity of Man. It's a HP case fic and is very good!_

_Enjoy!_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'We don't see things as they are; we see them as we are.' - Anais Nin

Chapter 10

Christopher Winston Hughes was never going to be at home in a room full of alpha males, Reid knew as much as soon as he saw him. He was small, 5'6, and slimly built. His hair was a mixture of colours, the predominant shade a royal blue, he wore eyeliner, carefully applied, under his eyes, and the ear piercings – one in each ear – were a clear notification that Christopher liked being different, maybe too different for a town like Calverville Point.

"Shall we get a coffee across the road?" Reid suggested, when Christopher came in looking for him, about five minutes after Reid's return from the Black Hills. The bull pen was full of the discovery, and Reid could tell by the expression on the young man's face that he had heard what had been discovered.

"Molly's does a better latte," Christopher said. "It's just around the corner."

Reid followed him there, the snow having ceased somewhat, although judging by the colour of the sky it was only a temporary stoppage. He liked the snow, found it fascinating. It wasn't common in Las Vegas, he'd maybe have seen a few flakes, but never an accumulation, and he could help but be spellbound by it now.

"It gets a little tedious after a while," Christopher said, having noticed Reid's fixation. "It's one of those things we have around here, like cattle, only not as necessary."

Molly's was virtually empty, the only other table held an old couple, holding hands and whispering to one another. "Don't be fooled," Christopher said. "They've been having an affair for about fifteen years. He was the headmaster of my elementary school, she was the secretary. Both their partners died about twelve years ago, but it's still classed as an affair in these parts."

Reid smiled, enjoyed the humour. "You heard, didn't you, what we found."

Christopher nodded and looked away. "I knew they were dead. There's no way they would have taken off like that, not five days apart. If they had disappeared at the same time I could have believed it, but saying they'd ran away was just people burying their heads in the sand."

"I need to know as much information as possible about them, Christopher. How did you know them?" Reid said, ordering two lattes as the waitress came over.

"I met them on my first day during fresher's week. We all signed up for the Assassins' Guild but never bothered to play. The second weekend there, Carrie and Emmy took me to the Hen's Dance, a gay club, in Rapid City. They'd sussed me out within about a minute of meeting me, and it was the first time I'd been able to be open with anyone. After that, I became one of the girls, I suppose. We shopped, went out, gossiped," he stopped, the news hitting him like a punch in the gut.

Reid let him breathe for a moment. "Did Carrie change before she went missing? Become more withdrawn?"

Christopher looked down at the latte that had just been brought over. "For about two months before she disappeared it was just me and Emmy going out. Carrie started seeing someone, but didn't tell us about it. I didn't meet him. Emmy thought it was some butch guy who would have beaten me up for being gay, but I was never sure that was true. I couldn't see Carrie going out with anyone like that."

"What happened to Emmy after Carrie disappeared?" Reid said gently. He could see this was becoming difficult for the boy. That was now all he seemed; past the make-up and blue hair, a boy.

"I don't know. That week I was on a field trip in Virginia. When I got back, Emmy had gone." He rubbed at his eyes, smearing the eye-liner.

"I need you to think of all the places where Carrie might have met someone," Reid said. "This is really important, Christopher. It could help us catch their killer."

"She met him at the gym. She'd been going there loads to try and lose some weight," he said, sipping at the coffee.

"Which gym was it? Can you remember?"

"The college one. Everywhere else was too far away," Christopher drank the rest of his coffee. "Can I go? I'll help you some more another time, but I really want to go home."

Reid nodded, standing up as the boy did, then watched him scuttle out of the cafe. He knew he would be back, to see if he could help, to see how the investigation was going. Reid pitied him, but also envied him his strength. He knew what a battle it was to be different, and it was only now at seven years older than Christopher, he was beginning to feel comfortable in his own skin.

He paid the check and walked back to the station, noticing the mayor's car parked illegally in front. Reid wondered what he was there for, and if Hotch had throttled him yet as he looked about to do on the way to the hills. Then he heard screaming, and he ran through the doors into the bullpen, just in time to see the mayor collapse onto the floor, clutching his chest.

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"The paramedics are on their way," Emily Prentiss sat down next to Mayor Cavendish and tried to reassure him. He was having a heart attack, and about to pass out at any second, and as much as he had pissed off Hotch, she had no desire for him to suffer memories of harsh words as well as pain. "We're going to find your son, William, we are. You'll see, he'll be safe home in no time." She heard sirens, followed by shouts and footsteps. Stepping away, she felt a wash of relief as the paramedics took over from her, administering medication and noting down Cavendish's vital statistics.

"Well done, Emily," Rossi said, as she wearily traipsed over to where they were stood. "Much experience of cardiac arrests before?"

"Two," she said. "My grandfather and a tutor at college. Both survived. I hope this won't be third time unlucky."

"I feel kind of guilty," Reid said. "I thought he looked unwell when he was shouting at Hotch." Emily glanced at her boss; it seemed that she wasn't the only one to find shouting at him therapeutic.

"What did your guy have to say, Reid?" Morgan said. The bull pen was beginning to clear now that the scene was over.

"Very little. Carrie had become quiet and stopped hanging around with him and Emmy in the weeks before her disappearance. She'd met him at the college gym, and for whatever reason, she was uninclined to introduce him to her friends. Christopher was away on a field trip in the week between the two disappearances," Reid said. "He says if he thinks of any more, he'll come in and let us know."

"Is Agent Hotchner here?" A voice boomed through the room sounding anxious and desperate.

"I'm Agent Hotchner," Hotch went over to where the man was standing. "What can I do for you?"

"The mayor – William – he came over to tell you there'd been another missing man." Emily realised where she had seen the man before; he was the motel owner, and had been there briefly when they'd first arrived. She saw Hotch glancing at her swiftly. This was their call.

"Was he staying at the motel?" Hotch said.

The motel owner nodded. "I went into his room today as we were a cleaner down and all his stuff was still there – his walking stuff. He'd said he was going on a hike. That was Tuesday. He went out Tuesday night to a few bars, and no one in the motel's seen him since. I'd just told the mayor – he's a friend of mine – and he said he'd come and get you."

"Go back to the motel, make sure no one touches his room, and myself and Agent Prentiss will be there in five minutes," Hotch said. He turned around and nodded toward their conference room.

Emily made her way in, sitting at a chair near to the door. Clearly she wasn't staying here very long.

"We need to break into two teams for the rest of today. Rossi, you will head up the murders of the girls, with Reid and Morgan. Prentiss and I started going through the details of the missing men last night, so we'll pick this up now. We will debrief each other after dinner. JJ, can you see if Jolene will let us use the room in the restaurant again? If not, it's take out in here."

"I'll call Jolene," Rossi said. "I'm sure they'll be no issue with using the room." Emily raised her eyebrows at him. He calmly ignored her.

"Emily, grab your coat," Hotch said. "We'll see you in a few hours."

"Are you convinced this guy's actually missing, or is the mayor simply trying to make a desperate point about his son?" Emily said as they stood inside Graham Needham's motel room. "He could easily have met someone and gone off with them, stayed with them for a couple of nights."

Hotch nodded. "But missing for two days without coming back for any belongings? Is that something _you_ would do?"

Emily shook her head. "No, but I'm female. I remember Morgan saying something about a holiday in Miami, where he met someone, stayed with her and didn't return to his hotel until he was about to catch the flight home. He just bought new clothes – not that he needed much by all accounts."

"Okay, that's one possibility. In that case, we should be able to find where he is. We'll have JJ put out an appeal for him to get in touch. In the meantime, let's assume he is missing. Where do we start?" Hotch opened a drawer. Socks. The man was tidy.

"The bars where he went drinking. The motel owner recommended he went to Schaffer's for bar food, and then to The Fox and the Hen for drinks after."

"That's the same area the other men were in the night they disappeared," Hotch said, standing up from his crouched position.

Emily's cell began to ring. "Garcia, I'm putting you on speaker. You got me and Hotch," she said, holding the phone out.

"Well, my Sherlock and Holmes, I have some information about your missing guy. He's 33 and just split up from his wife. She filed for divorce after discovering him cheating on her with the waitress in their local greasy spoon. He's no children, and his finances are regular – no oddities, no illicit accounts. He's a construction engineer, and will be able to afford his alimony payments and still have a good time with waitresses," Garcia said, sounding bright and cheery.

"Is there anything else, Garcia?" Hotch said. "When did he last use his credit cards?"

"Let's see," they heard the tapping of keys. "There. The Goddess of the information highway surpassed all records. Tuesday. He bought breakfast in Blue Tree Diner, bought something from a hiking store named Molinda's, had dinner in Schaffer's where he also got $40 cash back. Nothing since. Anything else, my twosome of happy hedgehogs?"

Emily caught Hotch's eyes at Garcia's description. He raised an eyebrow. "Isn't the Blue Tree Diner the same place two others who are missing got breakfast?" she said, connection being made.

"It is sweetums. But bear in mind that there are only six diners in Calverville Point centre, and three on the outskirts. And there's only one chocolatiers."

"We haven't forgotten, Garcia," Hotch said, his tone droll.

"Signing out." She cut them off.

"All the missing men, with the exception of the mayor's son, are similar. Here on their own, or they live on their own. Needham's no different. If the motel owner hadn't checked his room, no one would have noticed he was missing until it was time for him to check-out. The mayor had created suspicion in his mind. But how is someone abducting grown men without a scene?" Hotch paced a little in the corner of the room.

"Because they're not being abducted. They're getting into someone's car willingly, and the driver isn't a man." She got up from her perch on the bed. "It's a woman. They're being picked up."

"Female serial killers are incredibly rare..."

"But they do exist. This is it, Hotch. Apart from Walter Thomas, they were all single, and I'd money on Thomas being a serial philanderer. They met her at some point during the day, or that evening and she offered to give them a lift back to their motel or wherever they were staying. They thought they were getting lucky." She had moved closer to him without realising, and now stood a few inches away from him. She found herself frozen, her awareness of his physicality palpable, as if it were a net, trapping her entire body.

He didn't step back. She thought he would, but he didn't. But his voice changed, the only sign that he had noticed something different. "We need to retrace Needham's steps," he said, quietly, softly. "Go to the diner, go to the bars, and find if anyone saw anything, saw him speak to anyone."

Emily nodded, managing to step away, but he held her gaze. She wondered if that electricity had been there before but it was only now she was beginning to be aware of it. "Maybe we can get a sandwich at the diner. I haven't eaten since breakfast and it's now half three."

"Sure," Hotch said, his voice still possessing that same quiet tone. "But we should leave the bars until after dinner – there's more chance that the people who were working on Tuesday will be there. In fact, we'll split the team up and get it done quicker. Something tells me we're going to need all the rest we can get tonight."

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Rossi looked around at the depleted team. He agreed with Hotch's decision to break into two to make a start on the second case, he just wished it hadn't have been right now, pretty much after the discovery of two more bodies.

"The second kill was when he started to enjoy it," Morgan said. "He got off on Emmy's fear. I think he takes photos not just as a souvenir for him, but to also put up on the walls of his torture den so the next victim knows what's coming to them."

Rossi nodded. "Carrie's and Emmy's torture was brief. Something changed in that second kill that made him want to keep them for longer."

"Fear. And he also feels he's taking revenge for being teased at school. We can deduce from what Christopher's said to Reid that Emmy didn't like the UnSub. She'd obviously met him before – girls always like to introduce their new man to their friends, but if Carrie didn't like Emmy's response, she'd keep him quiet," Morgan tapped the desk with the bottom of his pen. Rossi knew that was a sign of him thinking, of him working things out.

"People don't like to have their choices questioned. If a friend disagrees with you on something you think you've made the right choice over, you abandon the friend instead of the choice initially," Reid said. "If Carrie abandoned her friend, the next person to turn to is her boyfriend. Christopher suggested that the boyfriend was homophobic, in which case, Carrie would probably stop relying on Christopher for friendship, and thus she would have no self-regulatory framework."

"But wouldn't she have confided in Emmy at least when she had the abortion?" Rossi said. The key was here, he knew. Get inside the first victim's head, inside Carrie's head, and they may be able to track down the UnSub.

"No, she wouldn't," JJ said. "That would open up a whole realm of 'I-told-you-so's'. The boyfriend will have put enough doubts in her mind to stop her going to her friends."

"But she must have begun to have doubts about him, as well," Rossi said. "Otherwise, she may have not had the abortion."

"And that's what sent him over. The rejection. Probably reinforcing the rejection he'd had throughout his life from his mother, his father and the girl at school," Rossi said. "And maybe while he was out in the town he saw the birthday banners. Have Garcia check to see if any of the victims had birthdays around the time of Carrie's abortion."

JJ nodded and left the room. "I'll get a list of gym members as well. Garcia will do it much quicker than admin at the college."

Morgan sat back in his chair, his arms now folded across his chest. "What colour eyes did Carrie have?" he said, looking at Reid.

"Brown," Reid said. "We know so much about him, but we haven't enough to narrow down a search yet."

"Let's go over what we've got. Double check everything. We know he has to have some form of den somewhere where he takes his victims – Reid, look at the map and see if there are any abandoned or disused buildings in remote locations that face east," Rossi said.

"With all due respect, Dave, there's going to be a lot. This is a ranch county; they'll be a lot of places that have been abandoned," Reid said.

Rossi nodded. "But they'll be some that stand out. They'll have recently been repaired, for example. Something will pique your interest."

The door opened, a cold draught entering the room with JJ. "Garcia's sending a list of male gym members to your handhelds," she said. "And you were right, Dave. Isabel's birthday was five days after Carrie's abortion."

"Reid, look at Isabel's address on the map. He saw that banner by chance – the road will be one he regularly uses," Rossi said.

They worked, almost in silence, until the sun had crept down, bringing a white darkness to the street outside. It was getting cooler, people would become more concerned with the weather than personal security, and the old 'it'll never happen to me' adage would play through their minds as they send their daughters out to let the dog in, or nip round to the neighbour's to check on ole' Mrs Smith. He stood up and walked to the window, one of their black FBI vehicles pulling over and parking.

"Hotch and Emily are back," he said, watching as Emily nearly lost her footing as she climbed out of the car. He saw Hotch ask her if she was okay as he came round to offer her an arm, which Emily grabbed hold of, seemingly limping.

Morgan caught sight of his co-worker struggling and pushed open the fire door, allowing them to come straight into their conference room. "Em, are you okay?" he said, taking hold of the bag that Hotch passed him.

"She's twisted her ankle," Hotch said, one arm around her shoulders, the other arm acting as a crutch.

"Ow, I have not twisted my ankle! I've just bruised it and it will be fine when I've sat down. Ouch!" she sounded annoyed and Dave decided that keeping a certain distance, and keeping quiet would be the best method of self-preservation.

"We should take you to the hospital," Hotch said. Rossi braced himself for the fallout.

"I am not going to the hospital. It's at least 45 minutes away, and we have things to do. Can't you just strap it up or something?" she sat down on a chair Morgan had pulled out for her and glared at Hotch.

Hotch sighed. "If I strap it up do you promise not to hit me if it hurts?"

"Yes, I'll hit Morgan instead!"

JJ moved over to her and looked down at the ankle. "It's started to swell up already. Hotch, I'll go get some painkillers and raid the first aid kit. There might be some ice in the freezer too."

Rossi watched as Hotch pulled off Emily's shoe, and slid his hand up her calf to pull down the sock-like stocking she had on underneath. For a moment, he felt like telling Morgan and Reid to get the hell out of the room, it seemed to be a scene that only Hotch and Emily should be sharing, such was the lightness of his touch. Hotch wasn't a physical person: Rossi would touch, hug and pat his colleagues on the shoulder; he'd seen Morgan hug all the girls they worked with and give Reid the odd squeeze across his shoulders, but no one ever touched Hotch, and Hotch rarely touched anyone. This was something new.

"Hotch, here're some frozen peas," JJ said, throwing them to him. Emily winced as the cold hit her skin. "I'm just getting the first aid kit. Winters seems to think there's some temporary strapping in there."

Hotch looked up at them. "We really have two cases to work now," he said, still holding the peas against Emily's ankle. "We think the second UnSub is probably female, in her mid to late twenties and will be attractive enough to entice a man to get into her car."

Rossi nodded. "I had a feeling this was going to be a woman. Straight men will generally not get into the car of a male they don't know at night. And it had to be a car as there was no struggle heard. Two of them went missing from this town square. I agree completely. Our UnSub is female."

Emily sneezed, followed by a grimace of pain. "We don't have much to go on with female serial killers," she said. "They're a rarity. Women do not kill for sex."

"So it's probably revenge. She is almost certainly likely to be seducing him, getting him into a weakened state where she can overpower him – maybe through bondage, or through administering a sedative. Then she goes in for the kill," Morgan said. "Or maybe she knocks him unconscious. These weren't small guys; she'd have had a tough job on her hands."

JJ reappeared carrying a first aid kit and handed it to Hotch, sitting back down beside Rossi. They all seemed to be fixated on Hotch's medical skills, as he rummage through the kit and began to strap up Emily's ankle, rolling up her trouser leg to her knee. Rossi noticed a faint blush appear on Emily's cheeks which did not seem to be caused by her cold. He bit his tongue, stopping himself from asking Hotch whether he was have taken care of him so tenderly.

"So why isn't the countryside littered with bodies then?" Reid said, his eyes fixated on the bandage that was being wrapped around Emily's lower leg and ankle too. "Unless she's using acid or lime to dispose of the bodies, she'd have to be dumping them somewhere, and there's no way all of these men have been dumped without at least one being found."

"Maybe she doesn't kill them," Emily said, wincing slightly. "That feels quite tight, Hotch. Maybe she's holding them captive."

Rossi frowned. "Why would she do that? Men, like UnSub one, keep women or other men captive in order to torture them for sexual gratification. Women don't have that need."

"I disagree, Rossi," Reid said, "There are some female serial killers who had an element of sexual sadism in their kill. Myra Hindley, for example, and Rose West, both British killers. Rose West was involved in the sexual mutilation of her victims, while Hindley and Ian Brady would find the children's terror sexually stimulating."

"But both of those women had partners," Rossi said. "We don't know if UnSub number two does."

"It could be revenge motivated," Reid said. "Like Megan Caine. She could be a victim of abuse or have a cheating husband."

"If that was the case," Hotch said, tucking the final piece of bandage in and taping it so it was secure. "She would be choosing her victims with more care. There would be a specific type of man she was going for. Aside from their location, nothing connects these men. Emily, you need to keep your leg raised." He sat on the chair next to her, and gently pulled up her leg, placing her ankle on his thigh. "I'll get you some cushions in a minute," he added. "I don't think the partner theory is that far out. A female UnSub abducting men is likely to have been abused by a male figure or figures in her life. We'd be looking at someone who had probably been in the care system. She would trust few people, would be working a dead-end job, and would be likely to be in an abusive relationship, because that's all she's known."

Rossi watched Emily's face crease with sympathy "I hate these cases where it's possible to empathise with a killer. It makes you realise there's that fine line... and if you so much as flick that cotton wool anywhere near me, Derek Morgan, I will cross that fine? line!" She glared at him, and he retreated his fingers.

"Bambakomallophobia," Reid said. They stared at him. "Fear of cotton wool. It's what Emily has. We need to find out where our victims met this woman."

Hotch nodded. "We do. Prentiss and I have already been to Blue Tree Diner where three of the men definitely ate the days before they went missing..."

"That's where Winters and I had coffee yesterday," Rossi interrupted. "We had a waitress called Annabel, who didn't seem old enough to not be in school."

"It seems most of the diner's staff are college students, high school pupils who need a part time job. We still got a list of employees, and I'm going to have Garcia cross-reference them for anyone who's been in the care system," Hotch said. Rossi noticed that he was still holding the bag of frozen peas against Emily's ankle. "The other places we need to check, and see if anyone remembers these men on the night they were missing, are the bars here and further west in Calverville Square. This town only has two main focal points for nightlife, so Morgan and Reid, if you take the bars in the square and Rossi and I will stay here and ask around. Garcia should be sending everyone a list of the dates, photographs and any events that happened on those dates which might help jog people's memories."

"And what about me and JJ?" Emily asked. "We can check out round here."

Hotch looked at her, then spoke in a very quiet but firm voice. "Prentiss, you can't but any weight on that foot, and I don't want to carry you any further that I have to. JJ can brief you on what her, Morgan, Reid and Rossi have worked on this afternoon, and there will be the messages from the public to go through too. I suggest we move you to Jolene's now, and we'll meet there around eight for dinner."

Apart from Emily, they stood, readying piles of paper and laptops, dispensing them into bags. "Hotch," Rossi heard Emily say quietly. He looked up discretely, wanting to hear the rest of the conversation. "Thank you for sorting my ankle. I really didn't want to go to the ER."

He nodded. "Morgan and I will get you back in the car. Do you want to go back to the motel first to freshen up?"

She nodded. "I could do with going to the pharmacy for some cold stuff."

He shook his head. "I got some for you when you were in the bathroom at the diner. It's in the car. Don't let me forget to give it to you."

"Thank you," she said again, a soft thanks, with a look that was held a little too long. He'd seen this for weeks, glances that didn't end when they should have, choosing to sit next to each other on the plane and during briefings. Rossi knew that their relationship had not been harmonious when Emily had started, but it seemed that she had earned their boss' respect and interest.

"Agent Prentiss," Detective Winters opened the door between their conference room and the bull pen. I found these crutches in my office from when I broke _my_ ankle. They''ll help you get around some, but I don't advise you use them outside. Too much black ice."

"And that was what did the damage in the first place," she said. "Thank you."

"No problem. Jolene's expecting you later. She said something about putting on a buffet instead of the fiasco that happened last night?" Winters' tone was quizzical, and she looked at them all with a puzzled expression.

"It was just a bit of fun," Rossi said, picking up Emily's briefcase. "The food was wonderful, and a buffet sounds great."

Rossi carried his and Emily's bags out to the car as Hotch and Morgan placed her into the passenger seat, managing not to knock the ankle. He heard a few lines from Morgan that had Emily making further threats, but Hotch remained quiet, and Rossi wondered if he should say something to him while they were on their own later, give some encouragement maybe.

He followed in the second car, dropping Emily at the motel then JJ at Jolene's with all the baggage they would need for the evening. He caught a glance of their hostess polishing glasses in the bar.

"Good evening, Dave," she said, giving him a rather attractive smile. "You hungry?"

"Always, when it's food cooked by you."

"Well, you've got honey-glazed ham, steaks, wild boar sausages, fried chicken and all the trimmings when you get back," her eyes twinkled. "And maybe breakfast too."

"Dave," he heard Hotch walk back down from the dining room. "Let's go. You can lust over _food_ when we get back."

Rossi smiled at Jolene, who didn't seem in the least flustered over Hotch's sudden entrance. He liked that, he liked a woman who could cook, and keep her cool.

_Now hit that little button and review!!_


	11. Chapter 11

_Thank you again for the reviews and to those 50 people who have put this on story alert – it would be great to hear from you (hint hint!)._

_Hope you enjoy, and thank you once again to the amazing __**Lily Moonlight**__ for beta-ing!_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'The best love affairs are those we never had.' - Norman Lindsay

Chapter 11

Emily sat on the bed and pulled her trousers over her swollen ankle. It was throbbing rather unpleasantly, and she knew that she really should have had it checked out at the ER. But there wasn't time for the eight minute round trip, plus the wait, and then the lecture she would get from the duty doctor. She'd sprained her ankle before, several times; it was one of the pitfalls of being clumsy – she got hurt. Now she just needed to work out a way of having a shower, or even a bath, without wetting the bandage.

She opted for the bath, knowing that her upper body strength would be enough to support her getting in and out, and she could rest the injured foot on the bath's rim. She got in before it was too deep, filling the water around her, and enjoying the warmth. Reid had once said that the comfort of being in a bath was because it reminded a part of the brain of being in the womb, and for a moment, the recollection of the comment grossed her out. She just wanted to soak, make aching muscles feels better and take some mental time away from death and murder.

Closing her eyes, she remembered last night's dreams; the third in particular. She remembered the feel of Hotch's fingers on her ankle, gently firm and the softness of his touch as he had removed the tan stocking and pushed up the leg of her trousers. His fingers had felt good, too good. She recalled the words she'd said to JJ, _I will die a lonely death,_ and smiled ironically at the truth of them. Having a crush on your boss was a great way to ensure you would never date again, and she pushed all recollections of his fingers from her mind into a nice tidy compartment, and stuffed the dream where his fingers were places _other_ than her leg in right next to it.

The water began to cool, so she pulled out the plug and let most of the water drain before angling herself out of the bath. She felt better, less chilled, although she was beginning to sneeze more. Hotch had been right when he identified she was beginning with a chill. It was something she was prone to, if a cold was going round, she'd catch it. She would go paler than usual, then get flushed cheeks and ears. The sneezing would begin, but if she took a cold and flu remedy, and slept well enough, it'd be gone within a day or so. Morgan's usually tormented him for at least week.

Picking out jeans and a blue sweater, she checked her reflection and groaned. Her eyes were dull, her nose reddening and her skin looked sallow. JJ must definitely have been dreaming when she said Hotch reciprocated her feelings. Make-up only covered so much, and she managed to drop most of her powder onto the floor due to a rather violent sneezing fit.

A knock at her door made her jump, and she hobbled over to see who it was. Will. She smiled, a man who would have no comment to make about her appearance because he wouldn't notice. The only female he had eyes for was JJ, and that was just what Emily needed right now.

"Emily – do you want me to lend you an arm to get over to Jolene's?" he said, his southern twang making her feel warm and think of Cajun spices and jazz. "I can wait till you're ready – JJ's got Henry."

She smiled, gesturing him into her room. "I just need to brush my hair, and try and make my nose look less like Rudolph's, and then that would be great. There's too much ice to risk crutching it over."

He nodded, sitting on her bed. "I remember doing in my ankle. I was twelve and trying to impress a girl by doing this skateboarding trick," he shook his head. "The ending wasn't pretty, but it got me the girl." She laughed, feeling a little lighter.

"JJ know that story?" she asked, yanking the brush through a knot in her hair.

"I think JJ knows every story," he groaned. "And remembers them to suit her needs as well."

"No, JJ definitely has the memory of an elephant," Emily said, knowing that the conversation they'd had that afternoon would not be forgotten any time soon. "You must be enjoying being able to have her around, even if you are stuck in the back of beyond."

He nodded. "Yeah. It was real good of Hotch to call. I know Henry's been poorly, but the air here seems to have helped with his cold some, and it's been good for him to have his mom round. Good for me too."

"It's nice having him here, even if I don't get to see him anywhere near as much as I'd like," Emily said, putting the brush down and pulling out her concealer. She had no issue putting make-up on in front of Will; he'd seen it before when she'd stayed at his and JJ's. "He does make us realise why we do this."

Will smiled. "It takes a particular type of person to do the job you do. All of you in the BAU could make far more money doing a different job, a less selfless one, yet you give that up to do what you believe in."

"Is that why you moved up to Virginia? To let JJ carry on?"

"I can be a detective anywhere. Jayje can do the job she does anywhere, and it's what makes her her. I don't want to take that away – if I did, she wouldn't be the person I fell in love with," Will said, his rhythmic drawl as soothing as a lullaby. "You done?"

She stood up, grabbing hold of her crutches. "I'm as done as ever," she said, making her way to the door, back into the cold, South Dakotan night.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The Vinery was busier than he'd anticipated for a Thursday night in Calverville Point. A few of the town's older men sat at the bar, quietly musing about the latest goings-on. The rest sat around tables, a couple playing pool. Hotch paid them little attention; he'd ask them later if they'd seen any of the missing men. For now, he was going to let Rossi question the barmaid and get them a couple of cold beers.

He sat at a table from where he could watch the bar, and saw Rossi have no luck from the woman serving the beer. She shook her head when shown the photos, and went back to fishing two bottles of beer from the fridge.

"No joy," Rossi said, putting Hotch's drink down in front of him. "Apparently, this is a locals' place, and she knows everyone who comes in. Even the two men who lived in Calverville didn't come here."

Hotch nodded. "It does seem a little on the older side. We'll drink then go." He was aware of Rossi watching him as he took a swig of his beer. "What?" he said.

"Emily." It was a one word answer, but it could have been a book.

"What about Emily?" Hotch played innocent.

"I've never seen you touch another colleague before."

"I didn't _touch _her. I was strapping up her leg. Not copping a feel."

Rossi's eyebrows raised higher up his forehead and he let the silence hang while he drank. "It wasn't '_copping a feel'_, Aaron. You almost set the room on fire."

Hotch took a particular interest in the table nearby, where a younger couple sat, the woman drinking an Irish liquor.

"I'm her boss, Dave," he said without looking at him.

"And there are rules, just like there are in other jobs about not getting involved with people you work with. You know why those rules are there, Aaron?" He could feel Rossi's glare on his face, a little bit like being burnt by a hot sun.

"To deter relationships from forming."

"You're wrong," Rossi said, and Hotch turned and faced him. "They're there to make you think twice about getting off with someone at the Christmas party, because working relationships can be strained when mistakes have been made, when one person feels more than the other. Anything serious that's happened between two people at the Bureau has been over looked. Hell, Strauss has been having twice weekly sessions with Charlie Lambert, the head of security, for about six years now. Two agents in internal affairs are getting married next month and no one's said anything to them, because it's not the kind of relationship that will fuck everything up. Those rules are there so you consider what you are going to do before you do it."

"I'm not sure why you're telling me this, Dave." Hotch continued with the dumb act, finishing the rest of his beer.

"Emily. That's why. Norman Lindsay once said, 'The best love affairs are those we never had.' That's a load of bullshit; don't take his advice." Rossi banged his bottle down on the table and stood up. "I'll expect to be best man. Let's go."

As they passed the younger couple, Hotch heard a quiet 'excuse me' come from the woman. He paused, the retraced his steps. "Did you want to speak to us?" he said.

The woman nodded. "You're trying to find that missing man, aren't you? We heard some officers asking about him earlier. We saw him on Tuesday in a diner called Blue Tree. He left the waitress a pretty good tip; I heard her talking about it."

"Did you get the waitresses name?" Hotch said, holding his breath that they had gotten a break.

She shook her head. "She looked as if she should have been in high school still. She didn't serve us; we had someone called Angela."

Hotch thanked her, and made his way back to where Rossi was stood waiting.

"Next bar?" Rossi said.

Hotch nodded.

"There could be worse things to be doing," Rossi said. "Like looking for witnesses in men's bathrooms."

Hotch let that one go. He really didn't want to know.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"Just an OJ? You sure I can't get you something a bit harder?"

Morgan flashed his smile at the bartender, followed by his credentials. "I'm sure. I don't drink on the job."

"Oh my. I didn't realised the FBI grew them so handsome. What else can I get you besides an OJ?" She thrust her chest towards him a little more, and smiled seductively. Morgan had no aversion to older women, but this one was just a little out of his age range.

"Do you recognise any of these men?" He showed her a sheet of their faces, their names printed underneath.

"Those two I do," she put his orange juice on the bar. "They were in here the night they disappeared."Timothy Hancock and Brett Hassell. Tim was pretty much a regular when he was here. He had two homes, here and one in New York somewhere. He'd come here for a week or a few days when he wanted to get away. Nigel – I don't know as much about him. He ventured over into the Square once every couple of months, usually when he and his brother fell out as they were drinking partners in the Red Lion; on their bowling team too."

"Did either of them speak to anyone else while they were here?"

The bartender shook her head, dyed curls bouncing. "No one worth mentioning. Tim had a chat with Harold over there about the state of the economy, and Nigel played some pool, but they didn't speak to anyone I didn't know, and they certainly didn't leave with anyone."

Morgan nodded, downing the rest of his juice. "Did they go on to a different bar after?"

"They couldn't have done. We're always the last to close. Bang on twelve midnight."

"Thank you," he said, flashing that smile once more. "You've been really helpful."

"No problem," she said, wiping down the bit of the bar where he had been stood. "Come and see me again before you leave, I'll buy t o a drink to celebrate catching these two creeps."

Outside was covered with a thick white duvet of snow, the square devoid of any other humans bar him. In the distance he thought he heard a wolf howl and he hoped that the weather would deter UnSub number one from any more abductions.

"Morgan!" he heard Reid shout him name as he exited from the bar next door. "Crikey, it's cold." Reid shivered rather dramatically.

"Let's head into The Fox and the Hen," Morgan said, pointing to a third bar across the square from where they stood. "They serve coffee and I could so with something warm."

Reid nodded, sneezing suddenly. He frowned and looked up at Morgan. "I think Henry's shared his cold," he said. He pushed the door open and made his way to the bar.

Morgan paused before following him, looking around the room which had made some effort to be trendy. This was more the type of place where singles – or want to be singles – would congregate on a Friday and Saturday night. It was a picking up joint. The sofas were plush and cosy, enough room on each for two but no more. There were a few single seats dotted here and there, around the wooden posts that supported the beams, and a stage with room for a DJ and someone to sing karaoke.

It was virtually empty, except from a group of guys who looked like they were just back from a day's hiking, and three or four couples. "Is it always this quiet during the week?" he asked the bartended who was taking Reid's money for two lattes.

"Generally, yeah. Weekends are busier, and if there's an event on like a rodeo then it'll be packed, but if people want a night out then they tend to go to Rapid City," he said. "I'm Mikey, by the way." He held out a hand.

"Nice to meet you," Morgan said, taking the printouts of the photos from his pocket. "Do you recognise any of these men?"

Mikey nodded. "Tim and Nige came in here a bit. He was in a few nights ago," he pointed to Graham Needham. "I remember him because he seemed a bit lost, like he wasn't used to being in his own. He didn't say much, had one drink and then left."

"I don't suppose he left with anybody, did he?" Morgan asked. They were drawing a blank. They knew where the men had been before they went missing but they couldn't put them with another person.

"No. I don't remember him saying anything to anyone. There was karaoke on, and he seemed to listen to that, and looked at the selection choice to sing, but he stayed in his seat all night, except to top up his drink.

"He wasn't driving then?" Reid asked.

Mikey shook his head. "I wouldn't have served him if I thought he was. We lost two seven year old girls to a drink driver three years ago, and since then, bars have been pretty tough on people who park up and then expect to be served more than one or two beers." He switched the barista coffee machine off and passed them the drinks. "They're on the house."

Morgan nodded and thanked him. A couple of coffees wouldn't have them accused of being bribed. He sat down with Reid at a small table, on separate sofas. "We know some of the men were here, but no one saw them get picked up."

Reid nodded, sucking the foam off his latte. "Which tells us a lot about the UnSub," he said. "She's either fairly intelligent or has been trained to be. And she makes contact with them during the day rather than the evening."

"You think she chooses them earlier in the day," Morgan said, nodding his head in agreement. That would make sense.

"She converses with, finds out their plans for the night time, maybe suggests somewhere to eat or drink and she waits for them to come out of the bars at closing time." Reid sipped at his latte.

Morgan sat back in the sofa; it made him feel a little icky, knowing that the faux leather probably hadn't been cleaned that often. "Why only take them on a Tuesday or Wednesday?"

Reid tipped his head to one side, thinking. "Her shifts. She either only works on a Tuesday or Wednesday during the day, or those are the only two nights she has off. Another reason, maybe, is that if she has a partner, and say she lives with him, those are the nights off that he has."

Morgan drank the latte, letting its warmth slide down his throat and head up his stomach which was feeling a little empty. He'd managed a bacon sandwich after coming down from the Black Hills, but other than that, it had been a sparse day for food.

"We've got one more bar, kiddo, and then we can head back," he said, putting down the empty mug. "I saw tractors behind us on the way here, clearing and gritting the road, so we should get back in less time than it took us to get here."

"I hope so. I think I could do with some of Emily's cold medication," Reid said, sniffling into the remains of his drink.

Morgan sighed. He had no chance. He was so going to get this bug.

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It was only a strong upbringing and practise of being around food that she wasn't able to touch that stopped Emily Prentiss from diving into the tray that contained the honey roast ham shank and consuming it without chewing. She was starving, and the smells that were being emitted from the food were enough to kill her.

"They wouldn't mind if we started, would they?" Will said, looking at the photographs of the six victims of the first UnSub.

"Morgan would probably shoot you," JJ said, feeding Henry, who was more interesting in the pureed baby food that the finer examples of Jolene's cooking that were on the table. "And I have to give another press conference in the morning so I could do with you being around to look after Henry."

Prentiss saw JJ's eyes twinkle as she looked up at her fiancé, and she tried to swallow herself up in her chair so they could have their moment alone.

"It's okay, Em, this is as sentimental as it gets with a ten month old," Will said, giving her his lopsided grin. "Anyway, I hear the sounds of Hotch and Rossi, if I'm not mistaken, so we should be able to start this feast."

Emily looked over to the door as Hotch and Rossi entered, their coats and hair lightly covered with snow. They looked cold.

"Jolene's bringing down some hot toddies," Rossi said. "Be good for your cold, Emily, and to ward off anyone else's illness."

"Morgan's just called to say he and Reid are stuck behind a broken down tractor, so we should start without them," Hotch said, his cell still in his hand. "He also said that Reid's starting to sneeze a lot."

"It could be an allergy," Emily said, trying to lean over enough to pull the lid off the tray where the ham was. "He's allergic to feather quilts, and that's what we've got in our rooms, so he will be sneezing. Hotch, do you think you could carve me some of that?" Her interest in Reid waned dramatically on sight of the ham.

Hotch sat down next to her, his coat hung up. "I thought you were meant to lose your sense of taste and smell when you had a cold," he said.

"Feed a cold and starve a fever," she responded, watching him cut thick slices of the hot meat. "Can you make sure there's fat on some of the pieces?"

He eyed her severely before doing as she'd asked. "You realised that's probably why the mayor's currently undergoing surgery," he said dryly.

"You realise I'm five eight and 125lbs, and can run a mile in seven minutes and the mayor is about five seven and 200lbs. A little rind isn't going to kill me." She eyed him back, making a point of eating the crispy fatty layer first. She swore she saw him shudder.

Dinner passed without incident. Notes were swapped, theories discussed and by the end of it they had a brief working profile of the female UnSub they suspected was abducting men on a Tuesday and Wednesday nights by luring them into her car as they were walking home.

"She may not be getting them into her car with the promise of sex," Emily said, spooning a bit of cream from Jolene's apple pie into her mouth with her finger. "Two of the men have been local; if they were getting in for sex then we'd know who she was, her name would have been mentioned."

"Or she's not a native to the area," Morgan said, having returned looking rather like a frozen rat from helping the tractor driver restart his vehicle. "Although it feels like a small town, it does have a high population, just spread out. If she had moved here fairly recently, she'd have no history of dating and would have fresh appeal to the men. They may have known her and thought they were about to get lucky."

"So she could have moved here just before the disappearances started; which we think may have been as long as three years ago," Hotch said, looking around at the faces of his team, reading their expressions. Emily wondered if he ever stopped, if profiling was such a part of him that he could no longer switched it off, or if it was a state of mind he'd succumbed to as penance for his marriage breakdown.

"We should have Garcia check to see if there were any unsolved murders in the surrounding areas prior to that," Rossi said. "If she's violent, she's been practising before she started here."

Reid nodded. "She will have a history of violence. Like Eileen Wuornos, she will have been charged with other offenses, including assault and possibly prostitution. That helps us with age – she's be in her mid to late twenties, old enough to have developed a method but young enough to be perceived as attractive."

"She's organised and motivated by control rather than being mission-based. There's no particular fit to her victims, she's taking what is available and it's short term planning rather than long term. She's not a stalker," Morgan swiped the last piece of apple pie from the plate.

"She's extremely a-typical of a female serial killer," Hotch said. "And I do strongly suspect that she's part of a duo due to their being no personal connection to these men. It's almost as if she's a cat bringing home a gift of a mouse to its owner." Hotch stood up and stepped away from the table. "It's been a long day, and tomorrow is not going to be and better. We have a press conference in the morning, and then door to door enquiries around the Calverville Square area. Reid, you and Prentiss will be based here going over a geographical profile for both UnSub's. Garcia's sent across the list of every girl who had a sixteenth birthday banner – not just the brown-eyed ones. Both of these UnSubs have somewhere they are taking their victims. We need to pull up a list of possible locations and start ruling them out. It will be much easier to that for the first UnSub as we have more information.

"We all need some rest. I'll see everyone tomorrow for breakfast at seven in the diner. Bring your thoughts on a profile for UnSub number two's partner."

Emily pushed her chair back with her good ankle, then grabbed her crutches to prop herself up. She felt a hand support her arm as she did so, and the transition from sitting down to standing was made easier.

"I'll give you a life over to the motel," he said, picking up her bag. "It's icy on the ground."

They said their good nights, Emily avoiding JJ's eyes and the questions that would be in them. Hotch opened the doors to the bar and the look in his eyes made her stop trying to walk as they approached the doors to the outside.

"Look," he said. "No one from the team is leaving yet and this will be a damn sight easier – and safer – if I just pick you up and carry you across the road."

"Oh," she said, feeling colour coming to her cheeks that was not caused by the cold. "If you think you can..."

"Like you said, you're 125lbs. You're not going to break my back. Let's just do it quickly before anyone joins us." She felt almost disappointed. _He was being considerate. _He wasn't trying to get a quick feel, or want to appear more manly to her, he was performing a risk assessment in his head, and it was far less riskier to carry her than to support her walking across an icy road with only one good ankle and bad coordination at the best of times.

"Let's go then." She held on to her crutches while he picked her up, showing no strain under her weight. He made swift work of it, backing into the restaurant door to open it, then striding across the road as if she was the same weight as his son.

He placed her down gently and made sure she was steady on her feet before letting go, and when he did, she missed the contact immediately. "Thank you," she said, dreading what he could read in her eyes. "That's probably saved us both some damage."

His expression seemed to soften slightly, although it was almost unnoticeable, and she yearned to be able to have a chance at changing that distant look into something that showed his feelings, his thoughts. She'd seen it briefly the night before, when he raised his voice, when he spoke his mind and heard her speak hers. She wondered what would make his passion visible, bring it to the surface and make it roar.

"I'll go back and get your bag, Prentiss, and drop it off at your room," he said quietly.

"Thank you, Aaron," she used his first name deliberately, wanting a reaction.

She received none, just the turn of his body as he put his back to her and walked back outside, into the cold.

_Weiver x_

_Sarah_


	12. Chapter 12

_This has been the hardest chapter to write for some reason, so I hope it passes muster._

_Thank you for the review, yet again – they are so nice to receive, and do help motivate the muse!_

_Thanks once again to __**Lily Moonlight!**_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'In the misty morning fog with  
Our hearts a thumpin' and you  
My brown eyed girl,  
You my brown eyed girl.'

- Van Morrison, _Brown Eyed Girl_

Chapter 12

It was Morgan who dropped her bag off at her door a few moments later, and Emily felt the same disappointment she'd felt back when she was fourteen and the boy she'd had a crush on got his best friend to walk her home instead of him. Hotch could read her, of course he could, and she'd left her book wide open on the wrong page. She sat on her bed, listening to him moving around the room next door, the feeling of loneliness multiplied a thousand-fold.

It was Hotch who woke her, at a quarter to midnight, a firmly quiet voice calling through her door. She'd answered wearing only a nightdress, the chill of the night causing her to wrap her arms around her chest, and he'd been wearing shorts and a t-shirt. But it had not been the wake-up she'd been wanting.

Another brown-eyed girl had gone missing.

She pulled on trousers and a sweater, forgoing a suit jacket for something warmer, and applied enough blusher and lipstick to make herself look like a competent human being. Within five minutes she was ready, and at Hotch's door, which was slightly ajar.

"Hotch," she said softly, unsure as to whom else he had woken.

"Come in, Emily."

She pushed the door open and found him pulling up his tie. He looked across the room at her, his face expressionless, unreadable.

"Who's he taken?" she said, trepidation in her voice. She didn't want it to be anyone, but the thought it might have been Sophie was reprehensible.

"A seventeen year old called Carla Jackson," Hotch said, pulling on his suit jacket. "She was at home with her brother. He was watching TV in his bedroom, and thought she was downstairs doing homework. When the parents got back from visiting friends they found she was gone. The back door was unlocked. There's the chance she's gone out somewhere."

"Let's hope she has. When was her birthday?" Emily said, leaning against the chest of drawers. Hotch's room was immaculately tidy. To be fair, all of their rooms were organised, but Hotch's was super-so. She wondered what it would take to mess it up.

"Two weeks ago. She had a banner. Morgan, Rossi and Reid are being picked up by Winters' deputy and are on the search teams. You and I are heading to the house to speak with the parents and see what we can learn," Hotch said, walking toward the door. "I don't think we've got long to find her."

She followed him down the corridor on her crutches, wishing she could discard them as the arm rests pinched into her skin. "He's panicking so he's less likely to keep her as long," she said, a sickening feeling seeping into her stomach. "Hotch, he can't have gotten far. It's blizzarding out there!"

"I know," he said, waiting for her to catch him up. "But he's had a head start as she's potentially been missing for three hours. The brother last saw her at nine pm." His frustration was clogged up in his voice. "Emily, grab hold of me." He crouched down slightly and she wrapped her arm across his shoulders, letting him take most of her weight. He grabbed her waist, pulling her closer into him, and she didn't notice the cold outside being too close to him to realise anything but him. She found she felt safe. Emily knew that she didn't need anyone to keep her safe; she was just fine doing that herself, but the sensation was unique.

She pushed it from her mind. Analysing it would have to wait till later, until after they had found Carla.

He bared her weight as she climbed into the car, putting her crutches in the back, then drove like a man possessed to the Jackson's house. A row of cars were already there, including the other BAU vehicle, now empty with its three occupants outside in the snow, seeking the trail of the UnSub.

"They've gritted the sidewalk, Emily," Hotch said, opening the door for her. "You should be able to manage on crutches." He helped her down the steep side of the car, not letting go of her arm until she was stable, and then staying close until they go to the Jackson's door.

They were led into a sitting room, plainly decorated, where the mother sat, her head in her hands, and the father paced the floor. The room felt as if someone had stolen its soul. The life inside had gone, and heat from the fire had a heart of stone.

"Mr Jackson," Hotch said. "We need to know everything you can tell us about your daughter's usual movements, and yours."

"Why ours? You think we have something to do with this? You think we handed her over to him? All we've had since we found her missing is questions. You shouldn't be here! You should be out there looking for her, trying to find the son of a bitch who's got my daughter!" Mr Jackson exploded, picking an abstract ornament off a table and smashing it in the hearth. The sound of the crashing drew louder sobs from hiswife before he sat down and began to shake.

"Officer," Emily said, looking at the shocked looking member of Winters' team. "Could you make us a pot of coffee?" The officer disappeared, looking relieved. "We need to know as much as we can about you because the man who has taken your daughter has been watching you," Emily said, holding the father's gaze. "He knew you'd be out tonight, he probably knows every time when you'll be out, because he's studied your routine. If we know that routine, then we can understand the abductor's movements better and we have more chance of catching him quickly."

Mr Jackson looked away from her, staring at the carpet. His eyes had blurred with tears, his lids red-rimmed.

"Did you go out every Thursday evening?" Emily said, when Mr Jackson appeared calmer.

He nodded. "We have friends about ten miles away. They cook for us each Thursday and we catch up. We leave at six-thirty and get back around eleven fifteen. We were late tonight because of the weather. If we'd got home sooner..."

"It wouldn't have made any difference," Hotch said. "He knew your movements. She was taken before there was any chance of you getting back. Are there any other nights you were out on a regular basis?"

"No." Mr Jackson shook his head. "Only Thursdays."

"Was your son always in when you went out?" Hotch said. He was stood near the window, looking outside. Emily knew that he was transferring his mind to that of their UnSub, that he was looking in from the outside, through that window.

"Yes. He and Carla didn't want to come with us anymore. Carla went to a drama thing most Thursdays, and Joshua had football training until seven. He usually spent the rest of the evening in his room on his computer." Mr Jackson looked up, his eyes devoid of any emotion, and Emily recognised the signs of numbness. It was a copable state to be in. "Carla usually got in at eight. Suzie's dad would drop her off."

"Is there any reason she would go outside once she was at home?" Emily said. "Would she open the door to anyone?"

"This is Calverville Point," Mrs Jackson looked up, her eyes almost swollen shut with tears. "We're not used to having a murderer on our doorstep."

"It would have been the side door," Mr Jackson said. "She doesn't have a key to the front door, neither does Josh. Most people know to knock on the side."

"So if someone knocked on the front, Carla would have opened the side door and possibly walked around," Emily said, looking at Hotch. "Mr Jackson, what does your garden back onto?"

"It's a grazing area for cattle. Your officers are searching it now."

"Are there any tracks or side roads onto it?" she said.

Mr Jackson nodded. "Three. One goes passed the side of the house, behind the bushes."

"Can you get to the path through the garden?" Hotch said. Emily began to feel the hairs on the back of her neck prick up. They were getting closer.

"If you go through a small gap in the bushes. The kids used to squeeze through and use it as a short cut... that's how he took her, isn't it?" Mr Jackson slammed his fist down onto the side of the sofa, and finally lost control of himself. Emily limped over to him and placed a hand on his back. She noticed Hotch slip out, probably to make a call and have the garden checked again.

"We'll find her," she said, as the officer brought in the coffee. "We will find her."

-------------------------------------------------------------

Once the blindfold had been removed she had seen the photographs that were plastered on the walls and tried to scream. When she'd been very young her uncle had worked in an abattoir and she'd gone to visit him there once, getting a glance at the goings on inside the building where she hadn't been allowed in.

The photos reminded her of that abattoir.

The cloth in her mouth tasted of vomit and blood. She'd been drugged; something had been put over her mouth and knocked her unconscious, and she must have bitten her tongue. She swallowed and enjoyed the taste of blood – it made her feel alive.

He'd stripped her, leaving just her bra and pants. She was tied to an old iron bed, the mattress beneath her damp and musty, although the room she was in was heated. There were no windows, and the walls were unplastered. Some sort of cellar, some sort of dungeon.

Carla pulled at the coarse rope around her wrists and felt it chafe her skin further. There was no way she would be able to get out of here without help. She didn't even know where here was; one minute she was opening the side door to see who was knocking and the next she was in this room.

She heard a door creak above her, and knew her captor was on his way down. Cold fear shuddered through her like an iced bullet. She had seen his face, seen his eyes; their perfect blueness had smiled down on her as he'd removed the blindfold. And then she'd seen behind the smile, and knew then that it would be the last face she would set eyes upon.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Reid looked at the wide open space that surrounded him, lit up like a midnight Christmas scene. It wasn't farming land - the west of South Dakota didn't provide that – it was ranch land, home still of buffalo and isolated buildings. Somewhere, in one of those isolated buildings, Carla Jackson was being kept alive.

He knew she was still alive because he could make that assumption based on the information they had from victimology. Even though the UnSub's patterns were likely to change, they wouldn't change that drastically. He would still want to try and get his victim pregnant before he killed her; he would still have certain rituals to perform, and he would still want to see her fear.

"What you thinking, kid?" Morgan said, looking around the desolate landscape. They were on flatter ground, at the foot of the mountains and about half a mile away from Carla Jackson's house.

"That she's still alive, but we don't know for how long," he turned to face Morgan. "Do you know how many unused buildings there are in this area? And how spread out they are? We would need a week to search them all, and even then we wouldn't know if one of them would be his hide-out."

Morgan nodded, his demeanour calm and collected, like always. "Then we go back to what we know. We have to cross-reference gym memberships with the walking groups; that could easily give us a suspect list."

Reid pushed his hair behind his ear and huddled into his coat. The snow had ceased, and the night was freezing the ground. Tomorrow would be a perfect day for sledging and skiing, although he knew that the town wouldn't feel like it. They would be too busy searching. "We're not going to find her like this," he said, hearing the footfalls of the officers around them. The search so far had been futile. They knew how the UnSub had taken Carla, but there were no traces of him or his vehicle. The snowfall had been heavy, and had buried any tracks.

"We know more," Morgan said, beginning to walk back across the field towards the track that ran passed the Jackson's house. "We know he's affected by the investigation, than the urge to take another girl has become stronger, and we know that he doesn't just stalk one girl, but several."

Reid saw Hotch walking toward them, his shoulders were frozen stiff, not from the cold, but the determination and frustration. Hotch looked darker against the white of the snow, his figure almost menacing and Reid wondered when he had last laughed.

"Let's hope the boss man has some news," Morgan said, upping his pace. Reid stayed slightly behind Morgan, glancing up at the moon. He began to recap what they knew so far; the photos in the media, the supermarket orders, the banners. "Morgan!" Reid called, his voice fracturing the silent air.

"Reid?" Morgan stopped in his tracks and turned round, looking worried. "What you got?"

"When you spoke to the pathologist – did he say whether the last two girls were pregnant?"

Morgan shook his head. "They weren't. Even if the UnSub was trying to predict their menstrual cycle by when the sanitary products were bought, it's doubtful he'd get it right. The moms could be stocking up, and the time that they bought them wouldn't have anything to do with the girls' cycles, which may be erratic anyway."

"So he may have become frustrated when they began to menstruate. Did the pathologist say whether they had a period when they were killed?" Reid said.

Morgan shook his head. "It was impossible to tell because of the damage done to them. He'd need to go back and do further blood tests... what else is it, Reid. Something's bugging you."

"You said something didn't sit right about the autopsy reports, but you never said what it was."

Morgan shrugged. "Both the first two girls had black paint on the outside of their left thigh. It meant nothing – there's no way we could use that information to locate his hide-out."

Reid started to walk towards Hotch again. "No, but it could tell us something about him. Why would someone have black paint? It's not a colour that you would normally paint an inside wall. More likely to be artists' paint, or maybe to correct a scratch on a car. Is it being analysed?"

"A sample was taken and has been sent off to the lab, but it could be a couple more weeks before it's back. Keep thinking, genius," Morgan said as they drew closer to Hotch.

Reid could see that their boss' expression was grim, his face cut from stone. "We're heading back to the work room," Hotch said. "Garcia's sent over the lists of names, we need to start to cross reference. I'm having her fly over immediately."

"How many names?" Reid said as they walked down the path that led passed the side of the Jackson's house.

"We have thirty-seven matches," Hotch said. "Garcia has already sent information on each person. We need to see if we can narrow down the list."

Reid nodded. There was no chance of much sleep tonight, just lots of coffee. He stopped, looking at the side of the house as they walked passed it. "Where is Carla's bedroom?" he said. The window at the side had curtains that looked feminine, as if it would be a girl's room.

"Directly above us," Hotch said. "He watched her from here, and parked his vehicle at the front of the house on the left where it would be hidden by the trees. It's also a usual spot for walkers to park."

"She's not going to have as long as the others," Reid said. "He's shortened the amount of time between leaving one body and taking another girl by ten days, but I don't think he's devolving."

"He's enjoying the kill," Morgan said. "But it's becoming less of an intense hit each time he does it. The question is; how does he up the stakes?"

"The second time he killed he enjoyed the fear Emmy felt when she saw her friend's body. If he's growing in confidence, he will take a second girl before he kills Carla," Hotch said. Reid saw Emily in one of their vehicles, reading through something on her handheld. "I'll see you back at the station. Rossi's on his way."

"Thirty-seven people are a lot to go through," Reid said, looking at Morgan. "Especially when the one we want might not be on the list."

"We've got to start somewhere," Morgan said. "We've got a strong profile, Reid."

Reid nodded, not finding Morgan's words particularly comforting. Generally, he simply went with the facts and interpreted them, but for some reason, tonight he felt as if they were walking down a blind alley, with no clear way of knowing which way was forward.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hotch paused before starting the vehicle, glancing at the woman beside him. She looked pale and tired; her usually bright eyes were dull and watery with the bug she had. Yet he still had to fight an urge to pull her into him and hold her.

His response was the opposite. He cooled his exterior even further and switched on tunnel vision. All that mattered was that they found their killers as soon as possible. Then when they returned to the BAU he would have some solitary interviewing to do and could curl back into himself, pushing the feelings he had into some deep ocean in his sub-conscious so he would only be tormented in his dreams.

"Hotch, are you okay?" Emily asked, sniffing into a handkerchief. "You seem more wired than usual."

"I'm fine," he said, his tone abrupt. He elucidated no further. He did not want to engage in conversation.

He saw her nod out of the corner of his eye and knew instantly that he had hurt her. He felt a fist screw into his stomach and tie his innards round his heart. "We need to have a look through these names and then get some sleep," he said, hoping his voice sounded a little softer. "Winters has got her officers searching as many places as possible. We can't function on virtually no sleep."

Emily nodded. "I've scanned Garcia's list and some of the information. We can discount at least ten of the names immediately – married students and students out of the age range. Tomorrow we should hit the gym and ask if anyone saw Carrie with a man in the weeks before she went missing. They may still have CCTV footage, if we're lucky."

"I'll send Morgan first thing in the morning." He slowed the car down, approaching red lights and considered his next words. "How's your ankle?"

"It's feeling much better and the swelling's gone down. I think it was just a slight twist," she said and he saw her glance at him. Hotch wound down the window, even though it was minus seven outside. The tension in the car was palpable, souping them. He wondered if she was aware of it, or if it was all in his imagination.

The lights changed and he set off at speed. She was unbothered by his driving, having become used to it. He briefly looked her way, and saw her watching the snowy scenery out of the window. "Hotch," she said. "It's cold. Please can you wind the window up?"

He obliged, and knew by her voice that she was aware of the atmosphere too. When had things changed? Who had changed them? Had it been Rossi? Had what Rossi had said to him made him ultra-aware of her, of his reaction to her, or had it always been there?

Slowing down as he saw the station, he wondered who else in the team had picked up on it. Reid wouldn't have; he was gifted with a logical mind, but not an intuitive one. Morgan would not have considered it a possibility, knowing the rules and repercussions if they were broken. JJ had guessed something, he knew. And Garcia – he guessed not, otherwise she would have said something to someone else.

"Wait there, Emily," he said, putting the car into park. "I'll help you in." He felt something inside grow warm at the prospect of being close to her, as he had done when he had bandaged her ankle, when he'd carried her over to the motel. He knew his team thought him a robot, something without emotion, but that was untrue. He felt like any of them, just childhood had taught him to keep it hidden and let still waters run deep.

He opened her door and she put a hand onto his shoulder to steady herself, bearing some weight on her leg. It was still icy near the station, no one had gritted yet, and it would be too easy to slip and do more damage.

At least that was his excuse.

Hotch put his arm around her back, supporting her opposite arm, and as she stepped down off the vehicle she moved in towards him. He closed the door with his free arm, and they began to walk to the door. He felt her warmth seep through to him, through his coat and jacket, into his skin and he realised he was holding her tighter than perhaps was necessary. She turned her head at looked at him, her expression questioning as her eyes met his.

"I can make it from here," she said, the words quietly spoken, as they reached the door.

He let go, as if he had been burned. "I need to find Winters," he said, and he felt her eyes on him as he walked in the opposite direction.

Detective Winters wasn't there, as he knew she wouldn't be. She was travelling back with her deputy who had been with Reid and Morgan on the search. He needed a minute by himself, to cool his thoughts.

The water in the bathroom was almost freezing as he rinsed his face, looking in the mirror at bleary eyes. There had been too little sleep in the past three days and he needed to recharge. They all did - his team. If they carried on like this they would burn out and mistakes would be made that could be fatal.

Morgan, Reid and Rossi were in the conference room when he got there. JJ had made coffee and found some Danish pastries which all but Emily were eating. He tried not to look at her, knowing that nothing good could come of it, and then she looked up at him and he was drawn in, her face showing her hurt and confusion, dark brown eyes so very readable, so very enchanting.

"Hotch," Rossi's voice broke the spell. "Let's check out these names and then get some sleep. Garcia will be here in a few hours and we can get her doing further research on fewer suspects."

Hotch nodded, brought back to the cold reality. "Agreed. Prentiss has already discounted ten names due to marital status and age. Let's split into pairs and take nine names each. Three piles, no's, possibilities and strong."

He found himself with Reid, and felt relief, although the sound of her voice stopped him from being as focused as usual. Reid was unaware, more interested in immersing himself in the information they had.

"These four, Hotch, are strong. All are between 22 and 28, local to the area and three have done voluntary work with the ranger service in previous years," Reid said, passing the notes to him. "They all have vehicles that are suited to driving in snowy conditions and across all terrains."

Hotch scanned the list of names. Reid was right. They had no information on family background or high school education yet, but other than that, they fit the profile. He looked up at the others; silence had fallen on them, suggesting that their task was complete. "What've we got? JJ?"

"Two strong, one possible," she said, starting a collective pile and Reid added to it.

"Three strong, three possible," Morgan sat back, folding his arms. "We have an issue in that the addresses may not be current. Students do not tend to keep the same residence over the course of their degree, and do not always update their details."

Hotch nodded. "We'll have Garcia check out the addresses in the morning. In the meantime, we can give what information we have to Winters and then get some sleep. Rossi, can you find her, please? Let's reconvene at nine am. I'll have breakfast brought over here." He checked his watch; it was three-forty five.

His team scattered, their faces drawn and their expressions focused and firm. He knew what they were feeling; the frustration, annoyance at the need to sleep, dread. Those feelings wouldn't go until they had caught him.

Emily had lingered, looking through the pile of possibilities. "Hotch," he heard her say. "This should be in the strong pile." She passed him the notes. Edmund Baker, 24, restarting college after failing at DeVere Tech. "He's been passed over because of his car which doesn't fit with the profile."

Hotch nodded, placing the notes in the pile she had suggested.

"You need to get some sleep," he said, pulling on his coat. "And take some more flu meds." She hobbled round to him, the crutches having been abandoned.

"You need to sleep too. Leave the files here," her voice was firm, and her face showed none of the feelings he had seen earlier. She gave him a smile. "Can I borrow your arm again? They've gritted outside, but it's probably still icy."

He nodded as she pulled the zipper of her coat up to her neck, and pulled the fleece-lined hood over her hair, making her look rather like an Eskimo. He led her across the street and round to the motel, feeling a little lighter, but the tangled ball in his chest remained, growing tighter as he said goodnight at the threshold of her door.

_Please review!!_

_Sarah _


	13. Chapter 13

_Thank you for such lovely reviews for the last chapter, and to all those who have added the story to their alerts and favourites. I am really enjoying writing this – I hope that shows._

_Thank you to __**Lily Moonlight **__for the read through once again! It's always good to have a second pair of eyes._

_Slight warning here – Criminal Minds is not for under 15's (or so my DVD) says. This is a T rating, but this chapter does contain some disturbing (but not graphic) scenes._

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'Silence is the most powerful scream' – source unknown

Chapter 13

The shot he had given her had begun to wear off, the pain in her legs searing through her body and violating every nerve. She could smell blood; the iron tang making the room seem colder than it was, and she was freezing. Today she was meant to go sledging with Jenny and Katie, taking their sledges to the top of Monument Hill, where they knew Wesley would be with his friends. They would probably have had a snowball fight which would have ended with them back at Wesley's house, roasting chestnuts and marshmallows. And Neil would have been there.

Carla felt tears fall down the side of her face, leaving frozen trails. She kept her eyes closed. Opening them meant she would have to look at the ceiling, where he had plastered Polaroids of the other girls, the missing girls.

The dead girls.

He'd left her some time ago, after feeding her some form of soup and giving her sweet tea that made her feel sick. Then he'd done something to the back of her legs, cutting tendons to stop her from running. Not that she could run. The rope was too tightly tied, chaffing her skin and burning it, although he had untied her, briefly, and applied cream that had stung rather than soothed.

She had stopped screaming, realising it was futile. No one could hear, no one was nearby. All she heard was silence, not even a car passed by. She wondered how she could get away, but no ideas came to her. He had plans, he'd told her, asked her if _she_ would ever get rid of his child, asked he if _she_ would ignore him, tease him, make a fool of him in front of her friends. She'd said no, cried no, but he hadn't believed her. Instead he'd hit her face, then kicked her stomach.

She knew worse was to follow. She'd seen the photos.

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It looked like a Christmas card: the snow had frozen, leaving a crisp white blanket covering the town, unsullied by tire tracks or footprints. For a moment, Rossi let himself forget about the case and simply took in the scene; white, unspoilt beauty. It was early, and the place was empty. Folks were either still out searching, or in their beds, the rising sun simply an act of contrition because today there should be no light.

"You want breakfast?" He turned around and looked at the woman who had just entered his bedroom door. She was already dressed, her hair tied up in a knot at the nape of her neck and he had the urge to loosen it, and see the chestnut locks drop back down passed her shoulders.

"I'm good, Jolene," he said. "Hotch has got it ordered, and I should eat with the team."

She nodded, her face serious. She knew Carla Jackson, she was a regular on Saturdays, coming in with her friends, drinking milkshakes and having lunch. "I'm doing breakfast for you all," Jolene said. "Is there anything your friends like in particular?"

He smiled, remembering the profiling during the other dinner-time, which felt like decades ago. "Pancakes, bacon, eggs – the usual. As long as it's plentiful."

She shot him a weak smile and left the room. He stayed, looking out of the window, seeing the snow. Jolene had been up helping to search last night, and had suggested that he didn't return to the motel. He'd stayed with her, that old comfort in finding you still lived, that there was something else besides darkness in the world, had been necessary for both of them. Hotch would know where he'd spent the remainder of the night, and nothing would be said. It didn't need to be, he understood. He knew you had to find your way to deal with the job, its darkness, its malice, the knowledge that every human, yourself included, had that potential.

Rossi moved away from the window and pulled on his coat, stoking one of Jolene's cats as he passed it on the stairs. He heard it purr, a fine vibrato that soothed and calmed aching hearts. The door clicked shut as he left; no need to shout goodbyes as he would see her later, that much was understood between them. He walked across the snowy street, the snow crunching underfoot. Today should have been a day for children's games, for snowball fights and snowmen, for sledging and snow angels, but instead the town would be ghostly, and no laughter would echo through its streets. Silence would reign.

Detective Winters gave him a nod as he entered and Rossi wondered briefly if she was aware he'd spent the night with her sister. The brief smile across her lips suggested that if she did know, she didn't mind, and that there were other things to be concerned about.

Hotch wasn't yet there, much to Rossi's surprise. He hoped his colleague was catching up on lost sleep and not rereading the case files in his room. Rossi sat down at the large conference table, looking at the piles of information from last night. They had a more succinct suspect list now; just a few names that wouldn't pose much of a problem for Garcia to check out further.

Rossi picked up the second file, the missing men case, and flicked through the details, refreshing his memory. It smacked of a duo, of two UnSubs collaborating. The key was in the places where the men had been earlier in the day, or even the day before they disappeared.

He looked through Garcia's list of card transactions for each man in the run up to their disappearance. Most had eaten in one of the diners around Calverville Point within two days of going missing. The chances were they had started talking to a girl, and had happily accepted a lift from her later on.

Holding his head in his hands, Rossi began to place himself into the victim's mind. _He was from Calverville Point, so knew most people. A newcomer to the town was fresh meat, a new interest. A pretty girl, young and flirtatious, would be an ego boost. She recommends somewhere for me to drink and eat, then drives passed when I'm leaving and offers me a lift. I accept, possibly my luck's in, and we go back to hers for a nightcap. She drugs me. There's no sex involved at first._

Rossi looked up, a sense of satisfaction beginning. She was the bait, the puppet being manipulated. Probably in care for most of her childhood and adolescence, and had likely bonded with a male she perceived as a father figure, by whom she was domineered. He would be older, and had probably met her while she was in care. He jotted down the notes, knowing that by the time he came to share his ideas with the rest of the team, he would have lost the clarity he had right now.

The door swung open and Emily entered, limping slightly on the ankle she had hurt yesterday. "How's it feeling?" he said, trying to read her mood. She was usually good tempered and not without a sense of humour, but there had been a cloud hanging over her during the last few days. He wondered what it had to do with Hotch.

"Better," she said, sitting down and taking an apple from the fruit bowl that had been left for them. "The swelling's gone down and I can weight bear on it some. My cold's on its last legs too. Garcia here yet?" Emily looked about the room, as if she expected to see the analyst appear from out of the walls.

Rossi shook his head. "She should be," he said. "Maybe she's been delayed by the weather. Have you seen Hotch this morning?" It was a leading question – almost. He wanted to see her reaction.

"I don't think he was up," Emily said, looking at the files in front of her instead of Rossi. She didn't want to give anything away. "The walls are paper thin, and I didn't hear him moving around next door. What about you?"

"I didn't stay there last night," Rossi said, preparing himself for the raised eyebrows. "I stayed at Jolene's."

Emily nodded, her expression non-judgemental. If it had been Reid or Morgan, he would have had several questions to answer. "She seems like a nice woman."

"She is," Rossi said. "Intelligent, caring and understands people. It's a shame she doesn't live closer to Virginia."

He received a wry smile in return. He knew his colleagues thought him a womaniser, which to a certain extent he had been, but if the right woman came along – well, he wouldn't screw it up again. "You and Hotch manage to avoid heated discussions last night?"

Emily's expression changed into one of deep thought and exacerbation, and she kept her eyes down, away from his. "It was a stupid conversation you heard. We were both tired, and what we were saying got out of hand."

"You mean you profiled each other, and you were both shocked with what the other had to say?" Rossi said. He hadn't heard _all_ the conversation, but he had caught the gist of it. "Emily -" he said, stopping before he could cast his pearls as Hotch entered.

"It is _not_ allowed to be _this_ cold!" a familiar voice sounded behind him, and Penelope Garcia filled the room with her large personality and even larger hair. "Agent Rossi, Em," she continued. "Now where can I put my precious?"

"Right there, Garcia," Hotch said, pointing to one end of the table. A young officer, who Rossi has seen on a couple of occasions, trundled in behind her and preceded to be ordered about, putting down various bags and opening them under Garcia's close supervision. Rossi caught Hotch's eye and a look passed between them that suggested both fondness and a slight irritation. Garcia was a law unto herself, and Hotch's suggestion that she would have ordered something off the menu was pretty damn accurate.

"Detective Winters and her officers managed to find three men from our suspect list last night and all three have night alibis for the time when Carla Jackson was taken, so we now have seven names. Garcia, as soon as you're up and running I need you to find out everything you can about these men, including any properties they and their families might own," Hotch said, passing her a list of names.

"It will be with you sir, as soon as I have... aha... faster than the speed of superman," Garcia said, a slight flicker of light crossing her screen. Rossi heard the sound of keys being tapped and he wondered just how many computer hours it had taken to become that fast.

Everyone was gathered before eight thirty, even though Hotch had specified nine o'clock. Rossi knew that until they had found Carla and her abductor no one would sleep properly. Breakfast was demolished without formality and he gave Jolene a secretive smile as she reinforced their supplies with croissants and pancakes, delivering them herself instead of having one of her minions do it. She was apparently using the small kitchen inside the station, which had only been previously used to reheat left-overs.

"We're down to three names," Hotch said, having just drained his fourth cup of coffee. "Edmund Baker, Theodore Wells and Aiden Marriott."

"Aiden Marriott is 23 and from the east of Calverville," Garcia said. "He spent a year in juvvie for assault when he was sixteen – went at another boy with an electric drill. Since then, he's turned himself around; entered the local college as a mature student, joined the gym and is a member of Mountain High Walking Group, which has Christian affiliations. He drives a black pick-up and lives on campus. Mom died at the age of three, and dad has previous for drink driving.

"Edmund Baker, aged 24, lives with his father in a ranch off campus. No vehicle, but dad does have a dark blue Ford Dually. Parents divorced when he was twelve. He spent time with both, but opted to move in with dad at the age of 18. He restarted at Black Hills after being booted out of Rapid City – I can't find out why. Member of the gym and is the leader of a hiking club.

"And as for the last one, my pretties," Garcia looked up from her machine. "Theodore Wells is 26, studying for a masters degree in geology. Lives alone on a non-used ranch, which has plenty of out-houses scattered around, my loves. He owns two all-terrain vehicles – a Ford Explorer and a Toyota Sequoia - and has more money than even I could spend in one day, after receiving life insurance from the death of his parents in a plane crash over Sacramento five years ago. He is a member of the gym, of course, and also joins Edmund Baker on his walking excursions. His blog is pretty interesting too – you should take a look at this."

Rossi stood up and looked over Garcia's shoulder, reading what appeared to be Theodore's manifesto. "_Women ask for violence upon themselves. They hunt down their victims through their dress and made-up faces_, _forcing men to suppress their natural urges, only sometimes this is too difficult and things get out of hand..." _Rossi read aloud. "He's a possibility, Hotch."

Hotch nodded. "There's a problem with Wells: he hasn't been in any of his classes for nearly seven months." He looked over at Garcia, raising his eyebrows.

"There's also been some action on his credit cards, and money has been withdrawn from his account on a regular basis. All utility bills have been paid up to date, and he has made some payments to a local plumber for what appears to be a new bathroom," she said, her fingers still flurrying away on the keys. "His college records say he applied for a sabbatical – they don't say why, but it was granted."

"We need to speak with all three of these men, or at least people who know them. Where do we start? Black Hills isn't the biggest of colleges, but it's not the smallest either," Morgan said, finishing off one of the blueberry pancakes.

"Start with the walking clubs," Reid said. "Ask about girlfriends. It's the type of thing you may bring a girlfriend along with you, to share an interest. Or maybe they have ex-girlfriends who are also involved with the group, if the split was amicable."

"We know that Carrie was not a member of any walking group, and that she met the UnSub through the gym. He may have taken her with him, though. Take photos of her to show any acquaintances of these three men. It may jog a memory." Hotch stood up, and Rossi saw him cast a brief glance toward Emily. "Rossi and Reid, go to the college and focus on Aiden Marriott. The police couldn't track him down last night. Find him, and on the way see what information you can find about. Morgan and Prentiss, take Edmund Baker and do the same. JJ, you and I will see what we can dig up on Theodore Wells although I am going to ask Winters to send a team of officers with us to do a search."

Rossi noticed a slight look of disappointment on Emily's face, quickly washed away by professionalism. He wished he'd had time to speak with her, or at least speak with JJ and find what Emily had said to her.

"I'll keep hunting information on these bad boys," Garcia said. "They may own other property that's well hidden for whatever devious purpose. But if they have it; I will find it. We have to find this girl." Her voice softened at the end, reminding Rossi of the sensitive nature buried beneath the wackiness.

"Thank you, Garcia," Hotch said, standing up. "Keep everyone informed."

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"Ed? Ed Baker? You're having a laugh!"

Morgan stared at the jock in front of him, his expression at its most serious. The jock was lying on his back, his hands loosely clasping weights he was in the middle of pumping.

"Ed wouldn't hurt a fly. He came to the gym, did his walks and studied. Said he was making up for lost time. Then he went home and looked after his dad," Michael Rosen said, his tone dismissive.

Morgan fought the urge to tamper with the weight machine he was using. "What's the matter with his dad?"

Rosen shrugged. "Chronic emphysema. I don't think he has too long left. I don't know why you're questioning me. Ed's a great guy."

Prentiss made herself a little more known by stepping forward, still refraining from bearing weight on her sore ankle. "Did he ever have girlfriend you knew of?" she said. Morgan noticed how Rosen glared at her, as if she was beneath his contempt. He seriously disliked the guy, and just wanted an excuse to bring him in, keep him in a cell for forty-eight hours, with some lonely eighteen stone beefcake.

"Yeah, the ladies liked him. He was buff and good-looking, I suppose. I saw him with a couple of girls," Rosen said, giving Morgan what he probably considered to be his most charming grin.

"Did you ever see this girl?" Emily showed him the picture of Carrie, sent to them by her parents. In it she was laughing, her face lit up and eyes shining.

Rosen shook his head. "No – actually, hang on. Did she come here – to this gym?"

"She was a member here," Morgan confirmed.

"But she was a bit over weight? I remember her. Gorgeous face, but a body that needed some serious work, man," Rosen laughed, looking to Morgan for some sort of agreement. He didn't get it. "She wasn't Eddie's type. He liked 'em skinny and tall. Model like. I remember one girlfriend was a model, but she didn't stick around. Eddie likes to love 'em and leave 'em."

Morgan glared slightly, knowing that Rosen was too thick-skinned to notice his disapproval. "How about Theodore Wells. He was in your walking group too."

"Yeah, Ted. Funny, isn't it – Ed and Ted? Ted was a bit of a loner. Came on some walks but stayed at the back of the group and never joined us for the trickier climbs. Didn't talk much. He seems more like your killer to me. Brooding and mysterious. Never saw him with a girl though. Figured that was part of his issue, that he was gay or something," Rosen said, lying back down and giving the weights above him a half-hearted push as a hint for them to clear off.

"When's the last time you saw Theodore?" Emily asked, one hand switching off the machine that counted the number of reps. Rosen frowned at her, flexing on bicep.

"Months ago. Someone said he'd dropped out all together and was living like a hermit. He pretty much was one already. If you're trying to find Ed, he'll be in here in about ten minutes. Always comes here before his eleven o'clock lecture to do some work on the cross-trainer," Rosen nodded over to where the cross-trainers were.

"You seem to know a lot about his movements," Emily said, and Morgan noticed Rosen wincing slightly. It seemed that Ed wasn't just attractive to the ladies.

"We're buddies, you know. I meet him here quite a lot. And, if you don't mind, I'd like to get on with my work out." Rosen looked from Emily to Morgan, having clearly had enough of speaking to them. Morgan had no doubt that the tale of talking to two FBI agents would have some serious elaboration when recounted in the bar that evening.

"What do you make of our friend Michael?" Emily said, as they strode over to the personal trainers' desk, waiting to see if Edmund was going to emerge.

"I think he has the hots for his Eddie," Morgan said. "He's certainly not reliable for telling us if Edmund had a girlfriend or not – he wouldn't have acknowledged her."

Emily nodded. "I agree." She checked her handheld, her eyes widening at what she read there. "Garcia can't find any address at all for Aiden Marriott. He must be sofa surfing. Last known was eighteen months ago and his mail is being sent care of his grandmother in West Springs."

"Hey, Prentiss, that looks like our guy," Morgan interrupted her, noticing a tall, broad shouldered man walk toward the cross-trainers. He resembled the photo Garcia had pulled from the college records, although his hair was shorter and he looked more muscular.

"Edmund Baker?" Morgan said, approaching him. "FBI."

Edmund turned towards them, looking startled. "FBI? How can I help?" He stepped off the cross trainers and met them in their tracks.

Morgan assessed Baker's demeanour. He was calm, unruffled and didn't have the slightest inkling of a guilty conscience. Not that that mattered. Morgan had met many killers who had evaded capture because of their ability to act convincingly. "We want to ask you some questions in relation to the murders of six females and the disappearance of Carla Jackson."

"Sure – whatever I can do to help. You think I may have seen something?" Baker looked at them with wide eyes, his gaze flicking between Morgan and Prentiss.

"Possibly," Prentiss said. "If you can come with us, we can find out if you have seen anything." She turned, and Morgan walked side by side with Baker, following her into the small office usually used for the weighing and measuring of gym goers. For a split second, Morgan suspected that Baker might bolt, but instead he remained calm although somewhat confused.

"Where were you between the hours of seven and midnight last night?" Emily said. Baker's eyes were fixed to her as soon as she started to speak.

"I was with Michael Rosen. He's in the gym right now. We watched a couple of DVD's and ate pizza. I left about one to go back home after falling asleep in front of the TV. Am I a suspect in this?" His manner had changed, and he had begun to act like a caged animal, looking for the exits and acting twitchy, his fingers were flicking against his thumbs, but his feet were still. Morgan sat back and let Prentiss take control.

"Are you into girls, Edmund?"

"What do you mean, 'into girls'? You mean do I date them? I date them, of course I date them. I like girls..." His eyes moved again to the door.

"You ever have a girlfriend called Carrie?" Emily said. Her tone was pitched just right: assertive, strict. If the UnSub had a thing about weak women then a powerful one would terrify him, so Emily had brought out school ma'am Prentiss.

"Carrie..." He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No. I've been out with a Carolina. That was back at school though. There was a Carrie who came to the gym. I was doing a little bit of personal training at the time to earn some extra bucks and I did a couple of sessions with her. She was overweight – a size ten or something. Then she disappeared." A look of shock covered his face. "Oh my God – you don't think she was murdered do you? She was such a nice girl!" His eyes were now fixed on Emily. Morgan folded his arms.

"We found her body and that of her friend Emile's in the forest near here. They were both murdered."

Baker fell silent, his eyes dropping to the table. "She had just started going out with someone when we did our last training session. She told me it was the last time she'd be able to hire me, as her boyfriend didn't like her working out with another man. He looked back up again, his hands now still, the door ignored.

"You know any other details about him?" Emily said, her gaze still questioning.

Baker shrugged. "I think he was called Robbie, or something like that. She never really said that much about him. I'll let you know if I can remember anything else." He stood up to go, his shoulders now relaxed.

"Not yet," Morgan said, leaning forward. "We have a few more things we want to ask you. How's your father?"

"My dad? He's not so well. How's that relevant?"

"Just friendly concern. What's the matter with him?" Morgan said, keeping his voice low and calm.

"Emphysema. It's bad, he needs a lot of care."

"Does your mom help?"

Baker shook his head. "She lives with her new husband in North Dakota. They haven't spoken for twelve years, except when they've needed to over me and my sister. A neighbour comes in and helps him out when I'm at college, and goes in a couple of nights a week so I can have a social life, you know. Dad's really cool about that – he doesn't want me to lose out."

"Why'd you leave Rapid City college?" Morgan said, not acknowledging the previous answer. He didn't want to give anything away, no reactions for Baker to analyse.

Baker shrugged. "I was failing. I didn't get on with my tutors and I'd spilt up with my long-term girlfriend, so I wanted a fresh start. I've told you, I don't know anything about these girls. I'm sorry about Carrie – she was lovely, really she was – but I can't help you anymore, and unless you're going to charge me or arrest me or whatever it is you do, I really want to get back to my training." His pitch became higher as he grew agitated.

Morgan nodded. "We may need to contact you – especially because you knew Carrie. You could have information you don't realise could be useful."

"All my details on record at college are correct. You can usually find me here, if I'm not in class or at home. It was good talking to you, agents," Baker said, standing up again. This time Morgan let him walk to the door and leave. They'd seen enough.

"You think it could be him?" Emily said, pulling a tissue out of her pocket and blowing her nose. She sounded less nasally than she had done yesterday.

"Maybe. We can check his alibi – have some of Winters' men do it later – but he'll be covered by Rosen. If Baker's the UnSub, he's intelligent enough to have cover planned out." Morgan pulled out his cell and dialled Garcia. There were some details that needed checking.

"Home of superior intelligence. Please put forward your request."

He chuckled. "Sweetness," he said. "I need to know if Edmund Baker ever worked as a personal trainer at the campus gym."

He heard the taps on the keys and a strange voice in the background.

"You playing away on me, baby girl?" Morgan said.

"No sugar. You're all the man I need. That's Officer Farrington you can hear. I got you some sweet info here. Baker was indeed employed by the gym on a casual basis. He worked as a personal trainer when they were short of them, which was usually just after the Christmas period. And, my hunk of honey-love, Carrie did indeed pay two amounts of twenty five dollars - which is the charge for thirty minutes of shaking your booty with a PT - at the same time he was been paid for said job. Anything else, before the goddess of all things great makes herself a hot chocolate?"

Morgan laughed. There was nothing quite like Garcia for making the sun shine again. "You heard from Hotch or Rossi?"

"Rossi phoned home to say that they had found Aiden Marriott. He's been on a religious retreat to Blue Cloud Abbey – a monastery. It turns out he's applied for the associate programme there and wants to join. So that's one less potential cretin," Garcia said. Morgan could hear her tapping her hot chocolate mug in the background and knew she was becoming impatient with him.

"Thank you, baby girl. We'll see you back at the ranch." He closed his cell and looked over at Prentiss. Her own phone has just vibrated.

"It's Hotch," she said, reading the message. "They've found rope that is consistent with the marks around the victims' wrists at one of the ranch buildings owned by Theodore Wells. He wants us over there." She stood up.

Morgan hesitated. "You know, Prentiss, I got a funny feeling about this. We never profiled the UnSub as having a hatred towards women in general, and yet that's how Theodore Wells came across because of his blog. We need to get Reid looking through the rest of that website to see what else is in there."

"Hotch is on it already," Emily said as another message came through. "Rossi's on his way to Wells' ranch as we speak. You know, Morgan, I think I'm going to ask a few more questions over here. I'll have one of the officers drive me over in thirty minutes or so."

"If Hotch has said to go over there..."

"I'll speak with him. It'll be fine. I agree with you about something sitting funny with Baker."

Morgan nodded and headed to the door. "On your head be it, Em," he shrugged and through her the car keys. "I'll grab a lift with one of the officers now. You take the keys." He left her to it, knowing that he'd rather not have the phone call she was going to have with Hotch.

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Emily left the small office and walked around to the side of the gym where she had seen a couple of female undergrads watching them speak to Baker. She'd noticed them whispering, their eyes still on him, and it had provoked her interest, especially when their expressions had been one of satisfaction rather than lust.

"I'm Agent Emily Prentiss with the FBI," she said, once she had their attention. "Do you know the guy we were just talking to? Edmund Baker?"

The two girls exchanged glances, then one of them, the blonde, nodded. "He's a sleaze. He tries to chat up a lot of the girls who come in here, spy on them and stare when they're working out. He tried it on with Maisie." She gestured to the girl next to her who nodded.

"He made a point of working out next to me whenever he could, and every time I came here, he would always get here just after me, like I was being stalked or something. One night he followed me out and I pepper sprayed him. He ran off and didn't bother me after that," Maisie said with a shrug of her shoulders. "Now I don't come here on my own. It's always me and Judy, or my other roommate."

Judy nodded. "He's the kind of guy that just gives you the creeps, but some girls seem to worship the ground he walks on. They're always the ones who have a confidence issue, and think that going around with a guy who looks like him will up their status."

"Did you ever see him with a steadier girlfriend? Someone he may have looked like he was training? Pretty, a little overweight maybe?" Emily said, glad she had followed her instincts to come and ask.

Maisie shook her head. "He's with the other guy you spoke to a lot of the time. I've never really seen him with any girl more than twice."

"Thanks, girls, you've been really helpful. Can I give you my card if you think of anything else?"

They nodded, and she passed two cards over.

"What's it like being in the FBI?" Maisie said. "Is it as exciting as it's made out to be in movies and on TV?"

Emily laughed. "Sometimes. But some things are just boring office jobs."

"Do you have a cute boss? You always read about that in romances – how they shouldn't be together because of office rules, but they find a way..." Judy gave her friend and Emily a faux dreamy smile.

Emily's insides groaned, those butterflies making a dramatic comeback. "My boss is a bit of a stickler, and I'm meant to be elsewhere right now, so he'll be something other than cute when I see him," she gave a knowing grin and the girls laughed. "Thank you for the information, and stick to what you're doing. Don't let yourself be on your own."

She left the gym building, heading across the snowy concourse toward the car park. The sky was a grey-white above her, its clouds about to break open and pour more white flakes onto the ground and the surrounding trees.

No one was about in anticipation of the weather, and an announcement had been made while she had still been in the building that all classes had been cancelled. Tutors were finding it difficult to drive on the roads and there had been a rumour that the town had ran out of grit for a few hours.

Emily walked between the trees, the evergreen Black Hills spruce standing around like undressed Christmas trees. Her feet made imprints in the snow, and her ankle began to ache as she found she hard to weight bear on it more than she had anticipated.

The walk was longer than she thought, and after ten minutes or so, she realised she should have found the car park by now. She stopped, looking around her, and saw the college building through flakes of snow that were falling like twisted dervishes, hypnotically dancing.

"Shit," she said under her breath. She'd missed a turn.

A tree shuddered, snow falling from it and she wondered if a bird had flown from it, but there had been no sound of wings beating, and most birds would now be roosting, avoiding the snow flurry. She became acutely aware of the silence around her, the emptiness and desolation, and placed her hand on her holster.

A few footsteps later and she was sure someone else was out there, that there was a pair of eyes focusing on her. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she felt a shiver run through her. She quickened her step, anxious to get to the car and to Hotch.

The deafening quietness told her she was simply being paranoid; tiredness was playing tricks on her mind, a belated April Fools. She concentrated her mind on what they would be having for dinner that night, on the softness of her bed and the heavy feather duvet, but the bleak landscape still intruded on her senses. There was no one there; she was completely alone.

Then, the sound of a pair of footsteps that were not her own crunched in the snow behind her and she turned, gun drawn, fear piercing every pulse in her body as she faced her follower.

_Please review! I'm back to work this week and it's going to be a manic one – reviews will spur me on to still write when I'm tired!!_

_Sarah x_


	14. Chapter 14

_Thank you, thank you, thank you for the reviews from the last chapter! This one is a little shorter – I hope you don't mind._

_Thank you as usual to __**Lily Moonlight, **__and I'd also like to thank __**chiroho **__for the discussions about the best way to get Hotch and Emily together!_

_Please keep reviewing!!!_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.' – Gautama Siddhartha

Chapter 14

She lowered the gun slightly and looked at the man she was sure had been following her.

"Hey!" he said, placing his hands in the air and taking a step back. "I'm one of the good guys!"

Edmund Baker stood in front of her, the dusting of snow on his jacket and hair suggesting that he had been out here for some time.

She didn't replace the gun. Its cold steel remained in her hand and her ankle throbbed painfully. "What are you doing out here?" she said, trying to calm the sudden shake in her voice.

"I'm on my way to class and I was a few minutes early. I thought I'd take the scenic route," he said, giving her a broad grin. "It looks like you've gone the wrong way. Maybe you could do with a coffee first, warm you up. It's cold out here."

His eyes were as cold and as grey as granite, his smile belying the sharp rock they were made from. "I'm fine, thank you," she said, the gun still readied. "Your class has been cancelled. You should have heard the announcement."

He rolled his eyes. "Shucks. I heard something, but I was in the changing rooms and the speaker system doesn't work well in there. I'll head over to the library then. Research time." He shot her another grin, and turned away from her, strutting in the opposite direction as to where she wanted to be. Emily waited until he was out of sight, until she could no longer hear his footsteps crunching in the deepening snow, and then moved as quickly as she could to the car, her ankle still screaming in pain, and her instincts screaming that she had just met a murderer.

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Most of the out-buildings were in a severe state of disrepair; their roofs were collapsing and some walls had long since fallen down, bits of brick and rubble hazardously scattered about under the snow.

Hotch turned his back to the latest building they were searching and surveyed the land around them. Theodore Wells had still not been found. His house was coated with a thick layer of dust, and mice had taken up residence in his sofa. Not that Hotch could blame them; it was minus eight outside and even the grit on the roads had begun to freeze over.

He looked around for Emily, but she was still nowhere to be seen and a flame of panic ignited in his chest. The roads were becoming treacherous, and as much as he knew she was a good driver, he couldn't help but be perturbed by her absence.

"Morgan," he said in an undertone. "How long did Prentiss say she'd be?"

"Did she not call you?" Morgan said, surprise in his eyes. "She said she'd be an hour."

Hotch looked away from the other agent, agitation and annoyance now warming him up. "If she didn't call, she didn't anticipate being away this long." He pulled out his cell and hit the speed dial key for Emily. It cut straight through to voicemail. "She's probably in a bad patch for reception."

"Or she's turned it off by accident when she sat down in the car. She did that last week, remember?" Morgan said with a shrug.

Hotch nodded, he did remember. He just didn't like the feeling of dread he was getting, and he was feeling responsible. Her ankle was still not as strong as it should have been to let her out in the field. She had her weapon, granted, but she wasn't able to run or move smoothly. "According to Garcia's plan of the ranch, there should be three lots of stables around here. It seems like they've been demolished."

"We need to consider cellars underground. The building on top may have gone, but that's not to say their foundations have disappeared," Morgan said. "We could do with a 'copter with heat sensors as soon as the weather's cleared."

Detective Winters had just moved near to them in time to hear Morgan's comment. "We're going to be waiting days," she said. "This snow storm's been forecast to last another forty hours. Everything's at stand still. We always get snow early round here, but never in this volume. I'll have a group of my officers see if there are any areas of thinner snow, but this site's looking unlikely – we've searched everywhere now."

A sinking feeling of frustration washed over Hotch and he clenched his jaw. After finding the rope, it had seemed so likely that this was the place Carla was being kept. "We need to try and get the rope to the lab to see if it is a match for what was used on the girls." He walked away from Morgan and Winters, and took out his cell again.

"Garcia," he said, after hearing one of her shorter greetings.

"Boss man, what can I do for you?"

"When's the last time Wells took money from his account and where was it?" Hotch said, trying to control his impatience.

"It was... two days ago in Rapid City. He withdrew $600. He also collected a parking fine on third and east." He heard her tapping away. "He's definitely doing some home improvements – he just ordered a new sofa and chairs to be delivered to... Light Foot Ranch House. Hotch! That's not on the list of properties he owns, but it is about three miles east of where you are now. Go!"

"Send me the details and Penelope," he paused, knowing the affect his next words would have on the analyst. "Have you heard from Prentiss?"

"She's with Morgan." It was said as if it were an indisputable fact.

"They separated. Emily stayed at the college to ask a few more questions about Baker. She's not turned up here yet and her cell is going straight through to voicemail," his voice was monotone. No emotion allowed. He was a master at hiding what he felt, even from himself sometimes.

"Hotch..." Garcia's voice waivered.

"She's probably having trouble driving through the snow. It's dropped below minus eight, which means that the rock-salt on the roads ices over," Hotch said. "If there are any officers with you, have them take the road from the college to here; and check she hasn't gotten in any trouble – and before that, see if the car is still in the college parking lot." He hung up, knowing that if he said anymore he would give something away.

"Everything okay, Hotch?" Morgan said, walking over to him with Winters.

Hotch glared at Morgan. He shouldn't have left Prentiss when she wasn't up to full strength. "We have another building to search. Light Foot Ranch House."

Winters nodded. "I know where that is. Let's go." She shouted to her officers, and like a flock of animals, they turned and headed toward the parked cars.

Hotch followed behind with Morgan at his side. "Why didn't you stay with Prentiss?" he said without looking at the man.

"She was adamant that I go!" Morgan said. "You know what Emily's like. If I had suggested I stay with her..."

"Derek, she sprained her ankle badly. There's no way she can run on it, and if she's fallen somewhere. How could you leave your partner?" Hotch fought the fire inside him, trying to tell himself that on one level Morgan was right. Emily was fiery; she would have insisted Morgan go, and he obviously hadn't intended on being very long otherwise she would have called him.

"Hotch, man. I know you're worried, but so am I. Emily will be fine – she's a good agent and a strong woman. If it were me out there, you wouldn't be panicking like this!" Morgan said, his voice slightly louder.

Hotch looked away. He had a point. This was why he needed to get rid of any feelings he had about Emily Prentiss.

"I know it's different. If it was JJ, you'd be feeling the same. And given that Emily looks like the girls who have been murdered – but you wait, Hotch. Give her another thirty minutes and she'll be on the phone to you, telling you she's cracked the case," Morgan's voice was now soothing, and Hotch appreciated his comment about JJ. It was true, he'd be feeling exactly the same if it was one of the other female agents out there.

"Prentiss isn't the right age for the UnSub," Hotch said. "It's too much of a specific type – he's not going to break it." He hoped not. He knew that the UnSub would become less choosy about his victims as he felt the pressure of being cornered. But as of yet, they were nowhere near cornering him.

The drive to Light Foot Ranch took twenty-five minutes when it should have taken five. The roads they drove on were like skating rinks covered with a layer of frosting, and at least four times Hotch had to work hard on stopping them from skidding. JJ had driven with Detective Winters, and Reid and Rossi were somewhere behind, having picked up three officers whose car had given up the fight back at Wells' ranch.

Light Foot Ranch was much smaller than Hotch had anticipated. The six buildings that Garcia had said it consisted of were all standing, restored to a high standard. One looked to have been converted into a sauna and steam room, another, a secured garage. Outside the main building was an assortment of equipment, covered with a cloth to protect in from the elements.

"Looks like Theodore's been doing some home improvements," Morgan said. "But this isn't his home - " he was interrupted by the ringing of his cell. Hotch found himself immediately on edge.

"Talk to me, baby girl," Morgan said, and Hotch's hope sailed away. "What you got?"

"A whole lot of loving," Garcia said. It made no difference if you told her she was on speaker. "The ranch you are now at belongs to a Mrs Alana Ulverton, who happens to be Theodore's maternal aunt. She has taken up residence in Ottawa and has bequeathed her home in SD to her nephew. The legalities are currently being overseen by her lawyer, hence it isn't yet in Well's name. He has had planning permission for various alterations, including having the cellars filled with concrete to reinforce the foundations. Something else you should know... oh, hello..." she cut off.

"What is it Garcia?" Morgan said impatiently. "Don't keep me hanging."

"Your missing FBI agent has just returned, looking very cold and snowy."

Hotch closed his eyes briefly and let out the breath he'd been holding since he'd become aware of her non-appearance.

"Hotch," Garcia said. "Emily wants to speak to you." He heard muffled noise as the two swapped seats and he swiped the cell from Morgan's hand, taking it off speaker.

"Prentiss," he said. "What happened? Are you okay?"

He heard a long sigh. "You're at the wrong place, Hotch. It's not Wells who's taking these girls. It's Edmund Baker."

"How do you know?" He could feel Morgan's eyes boring into him, wanting to know what was being said.

"Reports of stalking. He knew Carrie – Morgan will have filled you in on that. And he followed me from the gym," she gave a slight groan.

"What did he do?" Hotch felt his back stiffen and became aware of the weapons he carried. Baker had better not have touched her.

"He didn't. I had my weapon; he made some excuse about taking the scenic route to class and asked if I wanted to go for coffee. He lied to us through his teeth when we interviewed him, but he's clever, Hotch, and he knows we're onto him," she was talking quickly, emphasizing certain words. He trusted her instincts, but he also knew that they had to eliminate Theodore Wells. Both fit the profile, and they couldn't afford to get it wrong now.

"I'll have an APB but out on Baker, and get Winters to send officers onto campus. Then we'll move to his ranch, if it's possible. The weather's worsening, Emily, and it may be that we have to get these men home. Why were you missing for so long?" he said, watching as Winters managed to open Wells' door without breaking it down.

"I fell. That's when I lost my cell. Then the car wouldn't start so I messed around with the engine and managed to get it going. Thankfully, being ankle deep in snow has stopped any swelling. I'll meet you at Baker's place," she said.

"Emily," he began, but Garcia had already taken her place before he'd had a chance to tell her to stay at the station.

"You may want to know, sir," Garcia said. "That good ole Teddy boy has updated his blog with a few interesting details about the murderers, including a couple of comments on Carrie and Emmy, along the lines of that they had it coming to them. I'll send you the text. Oh, and what do you want me to do about Prentiss? I can try and lock her in the bathroom?"

"Thank you, Garcia, but I'm pretty sure she'd find her way out. Just tell her I'll call to confirm we're heading that way. She's not to leave until she's heard from me." He hung up and passed the phone to Morgan and followed Winters into Light Foot Ranch, ignoring Morgan's questioning looks.

The house had been immaculately refurbished; new flooring, repainted, carved wooden bookcases that looked as if they had been restored. "This is why he's taken a sabbatical," Hotch said. "His own renovation project."

Rossi, who had just re-entered the front room, nodded. "Everything is pristine. Neat, tidy and excellent quality. We know he's got money and this is how he's chosen to spend it. Garcia's correct about the cellars – they've been filled in."

"We still need to bring him in for questioning," Hotch said. "He's one of two prime suspects. We need to speak with him, especially given the content of his website." He looked over at Winters. "Let's get this place locked up again and have Garcia trace Wells' whereabouts. We need to head over to Baker's residence before the snow gets worse."

"I don't think we can do that," Winters said. "Your analyst called with all the details and the ranch he lives on is isolated at the best of times. In mid-winter it's pretty much completely cut off, and right now, the tracks to it will be treacherous. I suggest you take your team back to the station and get some rest."

Hotch frowned, not likely the truth in what she had to say. The weather was worsening. He could see the snow flailing past the window, blocking the view of the cars that were only a few metres in front. "Have your team searched the rest of the outbuildings?"

Winters nodded. "They've found nothing. We've got all buildings on the plan accounted for. That's not to say he doesn't have access to property elsewhere, but I'm sure your analyst can find that out. We've got APB's out on both men. There's not far they can go in this weather – surely whoever it is can't take anyone else." Her face darkened and Hotch knew she was thinking about Carla and the unlikelihood of finding her anytime soon. "Depending on where he's keeping that young girl – she may not have a chance in weather conditions like this."

"Let's hope she's somewhere warm," Rossi said. "Winters is right, Hotch. We can't go anywhere in weather like this. It's risking lives. Let's go back, eat, and summarise what we know. We need to do a more complete profile on the couple too."

"That's fine, Dave. I'll call Prentiss and let her know she's to stay put." He took out his cell and made the call. He heard her shuffling papers in the background and Garcia clicking keys.

"Drive safely," Emily said at the end of the brief conversation, and walking outside where he found himself mid-calf high in snow.

"Dave," Hotch called back into the house. "Are you happy to drive in this?" He saw the older man evaluating the road, his hands tucked deeply into his pockets. JJ was stood next to him, looking a little more used to the weather.

"Hotch," she said. "I've driven in worse conditions that this, in a vehicle that's not as well equipped. I'm happy to drive."

"Here're the keys," Rossi said. "I've no issue, but I wouldn't say I was that experienced. It was bad enough getting here."

"Let's get going then," Hotch said, looking around for Morgan and Reid. "Morgan!" His shout echoed around the emptiness. "Where the hell have they gone? Spence?"

There was the sound of hurried footsteps and rustled snow, and Reid appeared looking flushed. "We've found something in the lean-to, behind a pile of new wood!"

They followed him behind the main house where a small, doorless lean-to had been built. Morgan was kneeling down in the snow, half of him squashed round the wood, torchlight illuminating his find. "He's got to have another property somewhere, or he's using a cave system, because this guy's our perp." Morgan pulled himself back round, his hand clasped around a bundle of bloody clothes. "Light blue sweater, blue Levi jeans. That's what Isabel was wearing the day she went missing. I need an evidence bag." Detective Winters passed one to him and Morgan bagged his find. "They've been here some time too, judging by the state of them."

"We need to do a more thorough search of this place," Winters said. "As soon as the snow's stopped I'll have a group of crime scene officers out here on overtime. But there's no point even starting to do that now; anything they clear will be filled in again pretty swiftly."

"He's not keeping her here anyway," Hotch said. "He wouldn't spoil his palace. What does puzzle me though is why we haven't found one of his cars. We know he's using the Ford Explorer to travel around in, but where's the Sequoia?"

"Possibly at the place where he's holding Carla," Morgan said. "It's a big vehicle. We can get a helicopter out when the storm's stopped and do a search from the air."

"And until then, let's wait somewhere it's warm," Rossi said. "We have to face it – we can't physically do any more, but we can go through the profiles and brief Winters' team on the second UnSubs."

Hotch nodded, looking at the detective who was stood grim-faced, inspecting the bag of evidence. "I hate to say this but..."

"We need to keep men on this site," she finished his sentence. "I've got four ex-rangers out here now. They'll be in their element." She gave half a smile. "Get driving, agents. It's going to take you a good hour or more to get back."

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Carla was cold. She could no longer feel her toes, or fingers or nose. Her eyes were heavy with an unnatural sleep that she continued to fight. He hadn't been back yet, and although the things he'd done to her had been horrific, he was all she had to stay alive. Last night, he'd brought warm food, soup and a kettle. He'd made sweet tea and a switched on a heater, which he'd turned off when he'd left.

He'd never come back.

The coldness outside had penetrated her skin, into her bones like some form of malignant tumour. It was eating her. She shivered violently, the cords around her wrists and ankles rubbing against the numbed skin. She didn't feel it, beginning to drift into unconsciousness where everything was warm, toasty warm and the cuts on her skin and bruises had never been put there.

_Thank you for reading, and hopefully you are enjoying it! Please let me know!_

_Sarah :)_

_Oh, let me know if you're on Twitter – I am as SarahMakin!_


	15. Chapter 15

_Thank you once again for the review! Please keep them coming – it's been a tough week at work and my muse needs some fodder!!_

_Thank you once again to __**Lily Moonlight. **__If you're a fan of CSI:NY I highly recommend her fics!_

_Many thanks also to the wonderful **Sonnet Lacewing** for the advice!_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'It is comforting when one has a sorrow to lie in the warmth of one's bed and there, abandoning all effort and all resistance, to bury even one's head under the cover, giving one's self up to it completely, moaning like branches in the autumn wind. But there is still a better bed, full of divine odours. It is our sweet, our profound, our impenetrable friendship.' – Marcel Proust

Chapter 15

"When was this posted?" Reid said, stretching his head closer to the screen by lengthening his neck. Garcia wasn't sure why he did that. He wore contacts, so surely his vision wasn't impeded. She put it down to an urge to get closer to the material he was studying, trying to form a physical bond with it, and that thought quite disturbed her.

"If you move your head, boy genius, I can tell you!"

He looked at her, shocked by the snap in her tone and she almost felt guilty.

"It was posted five hours ago. If you're going to read it out loud, I'm going to go eat some chocolate over there." She did not want to hear the ravings of some twisted mind, thank you.

"I'd rather you stayed," Reid looked at her intently. "You're more net savvy than I am, and I can already see a few references that you've more chance of understanding that I have."

She groaned and rested her head on her arm. "Read away. Just remember, you damage the sunshine within me with every word."

""_Removing one of the weeds does not solve the problem. To get rid of the disease, to eradicate all of it, they all must be taken. Plucked from their popular obscurity, their names shall become merged, illustrating the destruction and ruination that a teenage girl can do. They are the bane of every male adolescent's life, tangling their roots around beautiful flowers, and stopping them from seeing their true nature._" This is really interesting , Garcia. I think our UnSub might actually blame these girls from taking away the object of his affections," Reid looked at her, his eyes unsticking from the monitor.

"You're saying that Theodore Wells is more interested in men? That he's gay?" Garcia said. "Honey – he tries to get these girls pregnant – he has succeeded on two occasions. He's had one girlfriend that we know about. He must be a seriously confused individual."

"The rapes are not necessarily to gain sexual satisfaction, but to exert power and revenge. It's possible that he was mocked by a girl who had brown hair and brown eyes, and she did that by coming on to the boy he himself liked. The fact that here he talks about eradicating the girls suggests that he sees adolescent males needing to be freed from any chance of lusting after teenage girls," Reid sat back, looking thoughtful, tapping one of Garcia's feather-topped pens to his mouth. Garcia fought the urge to snatch it from him. "How many hits is he getting?"

She tapped a few keys and brought up a couple of screens that would mean nothing to Reid. "He's had around five this month, so he's no cult followers. He's also changing his IP address, so I would assume he's typing this insane nonsense at home and uploading this from a USB at internet cafes rather than from his own PC."

"What's cooking?" Garcia smiled automatically at Morgan's presence behind them. "That's Wells' latest update." He began to scan the writing.

"I don't think he's interested in girls," Reid said, turning his head almost a complete one-eighty.

"And you still think he's our UnSub?" Morgan said. "If he was homosexual and showed hatred to women he is unlikely to be so precise in how he kills them. He would be more disorganised, kill them almost immediately and there would be no suggestion of him trying to get them pregnant, Reid."

"That could just be a coincidence – the purchasing of sanitary products etcetera."

Garcia sat back; watching the conversation between then was almost like watching a tennis match.

Morgan nodded. "It could be, but for all four girls? Twice, yes, four times – no. And we know for sure that the UnSub was dating Carrie for a few weeks beforehand. It doesn't tally with what's written here, Reid."

"Then what's the connection? We've found the first victim's clothes on Wells' premises, he's writing a blog that seemingly supports the murders and has rope that looks like a match to the marks around the girls' wrists," Reid looked puzzled for a split second before his expression altered to one of almost wonderment. "They know each other from the walking group and the gym. Wells is aware of what Baker is doing."

"He's a fan," Morgan said. "He's probably helped Baker out, maybe leant him one of his vehicles. We should tell Hotch. Finding Wells will give us a good chance to finding Carla and Baker."

"Good work, my little sugar pumpkins. Now I will prepare to shut down this site with a mystery virus and make sure that no impressionable teenage boy should ever come across it. I have of course, before you asked, cast a magic spell and saved the contents," Garcia said, hovering over a choice selection of keys which would destroy Wells' manifesto. "However, I shall have to wait for orders from the boss man first."

"Nice work, hot lips," Morgan said, placing a warm hand on her shoulder and giving it a slight squeeze before heading off in the direction of coffee. She allowed herself a satisfied smile and opened another page. There were still details to hound about the missing men, and cafe and motel workers in the area.

She noticed Reid was lingering in her vicinity, long after he should have followed Morgan to refill his nettle tea or whatever beverage he was experimenting with this week. "What is it, little G-Man?" she said, turning to look at him without removing her fingers from the keyboard.

"Garcia," he began, his fingers tucked into the pockets of his cords. "Can I trust you not to say anything to Morgan or any of the other?"

Her hands left the keys and she turned totally towards Reid. "Of course. I am the depository of secrets. Let me hand you your magic key." Garcia glanced around the room; no one was in earshot. "Speak to me, boy genius. I won't say anything. I promise."

Reid stared through the window to the bull-pen, then lowered his voice. "There's an officer here, Katie, and she told Hotch she likes me, and she keeps smiling at me and I catch her, you know, looking at me sometimes," he said, looking more awkward than usual.

"Is she pretty?" Garcia said, smiling up at him. Sometimes she really felt for Reid.

Reid laughed a little and avoided making eye contact. "I think so. Morgan liked her at first."

"And you want to know whether to ask her out for a coffee and whether that would tread on Morgan's territory?" Garcia said, mentally cursing Derek.

Reid shuffled his feet and did unconscious mouth exercises.

"Spencer, honey. Sit down," she said. He did as he was bid. "Derek makes a play for a lot of women, it's never serious. If Katie likes you, you should definitely go for it."

Reid nodded. "Then what do I say? She's kind of put the ball in my court, so to speak, and...and... she's waiting for me to pass it over. Do I just say – 'do you want to go on a date with me even though there's some homicidal maniac killing young girls?'"

Garcia gave him a broad smile. "No, Reid, don't say that. You just need to ask her if she wants to go for a coffee. Make up an excuse, like you need to get some information from her about the town or something. She'll say yes."

His eyes showed worry and nerves. "How can you be sure?"

Garcia sighed loudly. "Because sweet-cheeks, if a girl stares at you and makes eyes, and then says no to coffee, she's not the type of girl you want anyway. She certainly wouldn't have said that to Hotch unless she wanted you to ask her out. Now, go do it. I have murderers to catch!"

He gave her one last nervous look before walking like a man possessed into the bull-pen. Garcia's eyes followed him as he headed toward a small blonde girl, busy reading a journal. As the girl looked up, she smiled, looking hopeful; and Garcia returned to her computer monitor, her day having just been made.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The shower had done something to warm her up and ease the bruises that were now forming on her arms and knees from when she fell. Emily tied the terry cloth dressing gown tight around her as she combed through her now dry hair. The snow was frustrating; they couldn't go chasing about when there was a severe risk of accidents, not when they didn't know for sure where Carla might be. And as for the missing men – they knew little more than when they'd first arrived here.

A firm knock sounded at the door, one Emily recognised. She glanced in the mirror. She was make-upless and pale, her nose in need of a good moisturiser. Why was she worrying about it? It made no difference what she looked like. Hotch was her boss, and nothing would ever come of whatever silly crush she had on him.

She answered the door, knowing that she was probably in for a telling off, given that she hadn't followed his orders, going off on her own and then causing unnecessary worry. She'd be mad at her too. "Hotch," she said. "Is everything okay?"

He entered her room, one hand pulling at his tie and loosening it. As usual, he looked tense and tired, and she fought the urge to pull the tie away all together and see what was behind the regimented exterior.

"What did the girls you spoke to say?" he said, his voice controlled and quiet, like a firework before it flew.

She sat down on her bed, aware of the dressing gown and the exposed skin on her legs, the bruises on show. "Baker had stalked one of them, prompting her to use pepper spray on him. After that, he stopped. Apparently, he had several girls who were interested in him, but they were the ones who were after a boyfriend who would improve their own status, such as Carrie."

Hotch nodded, not looking at her. A sense of dread grew in her stomach. There were no butterflies right now.

"Hotch," she said. "I'm sorry I didn't follow your orders. I saw the girls when we spoke to Baker and I figured I'd get more from them without Morgan being there..."

"I don't doubt that, Prentiss," he said. "Are you okay?"

His soft tone took her by surprise and she saw that he was looking at her legs, the bruises on them in a million shades of blue. "I'm a little bruised, as you can see..."

"What did you think Baker was going to do when you saw him?" Hotch interrupted, looking back at her face, into her eyes.

She blinked, needing to break the gaze. "If I hadn't have had my gun, he would have attacked me," she said, keeping her voice calm and trying to sound rational. "I got lost walking back to the parking lot. I felt someone was watching me, but didn't see anyone until I heard footsteps. I spun round, and Baker was there. He was calm and smiling, even though I had my weapon on him." She recounted the conversation she'd had with Baker just hours before, the feeling she'd had when she'd looked into his eyes, a murderer's eyes. "I walked away once he was out of sight, and ended up tripping when my foot caught on something under the snow. That's when I lost my cell."

"What happened with the car?"

She noticed his clenched fist and wondered what was causing the tension within him. He hadn't ranted at her, or told her how stupid she'd been, and generally, he'd start with that. This was a different approach, a scarier one.

"The gas had frozen, so I used isopropyl from the first aid box. I poured most of it in the fuel tank and a little over the fuel injector," she knew she was beginning to talk too much, "I need to buy another bottle of Visine now, otherwise you'll never see the whites of my eyes again in the morning!" She gave a nervous laugh as she noticed he looked puzzled.

"What did you use eye drops for?"

She smiled, feeling that she may have escaped the rebuking. "I emptied the bottle and put a little alcohol in there so I could use the dropper to aim it down the injector line. Too much isopropyl and you can start a fire."

He raised his eyebrows and gave a slight laugh, a sound she had only heard before when he had been with Jack, or in happier days with Haley. "Morgan and Rossi would still be there now," he said. "And I hate to think about Reid."

"We had a mechanic working for us at one point when we lived in Russia. Cheap gasoline freezes in cold weather, so he taught me what to do," she looked down at her legs, not wanting to make eye contact. He'd sat on the bed next to her, less than a foot away, so close that she could feel the heat radiating from him.

"How's your ankle?" he said. "Did you twist it again?"

She shrugged. "It feels much the same as it did this morning. Sore, but better than yesterday. I think walking through deep snow helped stop any swelling."

"Let me look."

She hesitated for a moment, playing out the next part of the scenario in her head. Then she lifted the injured leg and angled around to face him.

His touch was as gentle as it had been the day before when he had bandaged it, applying slight pressure to gage the swelling, to test for soreness, and then his finger swept slowly over the skin around her ankle, over her foot, leaving a burning trail across her flesh and setting her on fire. Then there was a silence, providing Emily with a tsunami of frustration as she realised she could read him, as well as he could read her, and they were on the same page. Trouble was, it was a banned book.

"I have some bio-oil in my room," Hotch said. "It will help with your bruises."

_Only if you apply it_, she thought. "Thank you."

He stood up and she followed him to the door. As he opened it, he paused, looking at her strangely, as if he wanted to say something. "I'll see you back at the station," he said finally, closing the door behind him and leaving her to wonder what had just happened.

_Another chapter will be posted on Saturday._

_Please review!_

_Sarah_


	16. Chapter 16

_Thank you again for the reviews and I hope you enjoy this offering as much. Thanks to Ramona, Ecda and csinyfreak12 for their reviews too, and to Dani –you need to be logged it to get the alerts :) _

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'They say the devil's water, it ain't so sweet  
You don't have to drink right now  
But you can dip your feet  
Every once in a little while'

The Killers, _When We Were Young_

Chapter 16

The man in the room next to him had been silent for some time, for long enough for him to assume that he was dead. Graham tried to turn onto his side, but the chains prevented him from doing so. He could feel sore points along his back where his skin was rubbing against the wooden base of the bed, and he could feel that they had become infected.

His naked skin was cold and numbed with the pain as well as the temperature. A heater was on a timer, but it was currently off, leaving the air freezing. He wished the heater would remain off, and then maybe he could die a quiet death of hypothermia instead of enduring the torture given out by the man and his partner. Earlier, they had taken pliers to his nails and he had screamed in agony at the tearing flesh. He had seen the blood in the dim light, the low watt light bulb hanging undressed from the ceiling. She had turned it off when she left; laughter still in her throat. She always was the last to leave. He went first, once he'd done, yet she seemed to take great pleasure in staying behind, dressing his wounds, bandaging him and applying antiseptic. She made it sting as much as she could.

The heater whirred into action, the dry air chaffing his skin, making him cough. The noise would prevent him from sleeping, so when they came to him, later, he would be tired and semi-unconscious. Graham swallowed dryly, touching his teeth with his tongue. He wondered for how much longer he would have them.

----------------------------------------------------------

"Once the weather improves, we're heading out to Baker's ranch. We've got the warrant," Hotch said, sitting down at the table and looking at the faces of his team. Reid was looking like the cat that had drained the state of its cream, so wide was the smile on his face; Hotch figured things had gone well with the officer who had professed her liking for him. "There's been no sign of Baker since Prentiss saw him on campus; Garcia is tracking his accounts, although he's unlikely to be buying anything in this weather." He glanced to the window, the snow still tumbling down.

It was now seven-thirty in the evening of a very long day. His team were becoming fractious, apart from Reid, who kept glancing into the bull-pen every few minutes and shooting a smile over there. Hotch let it go. It would do Reid no harm, and they could all do with a bit of distraction, especially this evening.

They were at stalemate, on both cases, with the snow blocking any moves. A profile was ready to give to Winters team on the two UnSubs taking the men, and Garcia was now searching records for women who had grown up in the care system and had moved to the area in the past five years, and coming up with nothing.

"We're giving the profile at seven-thirty tomorrow, weather dependant. Be prepared to split into two teams, with Prentiss and Reid based here and myself, Morgan and Rossi at the ranch depending on the conditions in the morning." He straightened his files on the table, intending to take them back to his motel room and read through them once more, making sure there was nothing that could be added to the preliminary profile of the missing men abductors, and that they hadn't overlooked anything on Edmund Baker.

"What's the forecast for tomorrow?" Rossi said as the doorway in between the conference room and the bull pen opened and Detective Winters entered.

"Snow," she said, looking despondent. "Snow and more snow." She sighed wearily. "I'm at a loss of what to do. My officers are restless. We have a missing girl and potentially know where she might be being kept. There's a suggestion that we take the snow ploughs down to Baker's ranch and search the place, rather than waiting for a break in the weather. I'm inclined to agree."

"The ranch is pretty isolated," Reid said. Hotch felt a fact-fest coming on. "Given the conditions and the fact that it's on an incline, there's no way we can approach in secret. There are two potential hostages in their: Carla and Baker's father. The situation could easily escalate if Baker feels that he is losing control."

Hotch breathed a short sigh of relief. Reid was clearly still in the moment. "I agree, Detective. We need to take a more concealed approach," Hotch said. "This could easily end in suicide-by-cop. Once he knows he's been caught, he's nothing to live for."

"We also need to consider the possibility that Baker hasn't made it back home and is hiding out somewhere. He has friends, people who will let him stay with them, and the weather conditions when Prentiss last saw him were probably too poor for him to reach home," Morgan said. "If that's the case, he may not be able to reach Carla, depending on where she is."

"We also need to think about the possibility that she may not survive in this temperature," Reid said. "It's unlikely he's keeping her warm. The bodies of his other victims suggest that he only feeds them enough to keep them alive, and they all showed signs of chronic dehydration. I doubt Carla's in a warm room. Given her slim build and that she will be in a state of shock, she may be at risk of severe hypothermia, especially if he has already taken her clothes..." Hotch glanced at Reid, seeing the signs of an upcoming lecture on the three stages of hypothermia.

"If she's already dead, what's he likely to do?" Winters said. She was still wearing her coat, Hotch noticed, even though it was almost overly warm in the building.

"He will take another girl at the first opportunity he gets. We shouldn't assume that the weather will stop him, especially if he is still on campus. This is when he may break type and seek the first person that almost fits," Hotch said. Winters was starting with a cold, probably the same virus that Emily had. "We need to bring in Michael Rosen and re-question him about Baker's whereabouts."

Morgan leaned forward on to the table. "I doubt we'll get much out of him. He's been pretty much brainwashed by Baker. We'd really have to make him crack."

"Then we'll make him crack," Hotch said.

He saw Emily frown a little before sitting forward so that she could see everybody. "We're talking about Carla having hypothermia, but we also have to consider the same for Graham Needham. We have no idea where he might be being held, or who else is in the same position."

"But we don't have any bodies. We know the outcome for Carla. All we can do about the men is presume they are dead, so we have to prioritise the case where we can do more," Hotch said, looking directly at her.

She nodded. "I know. It's frustrating."

The room fell quiet for a moment, all of them feeling the same sensation of being forced to wait.

"We'll move in the morning," Hotch said, breaking the silence. "Tell your officers to be ready to head down to Baker's ranch at two-thirty am, we'll brief them at two-fifteen. And if you can, send more men to the campus." It was an old tactic: hit them when the body was physically at its lowest ebb, the time before dawn when it was naturally programmed to sleep. He just hoped, that should Carla be at the ranch, she could make it through the night.

Winters stood, taking a handkerchief from her pocket. "I'll let them know and have half a dozen more officers head to the campus. I'll be in touch." She left the room and Hotch heard her call to her men, giving them orders.

He looked round at his team. "It's a free evening," he said. "We all need some space from this. I expect you all here at two am. I'm sorry it's another night of no sleep, but hopefully by the morning we'll have one less killer on the streets." He stood up, his dismissal, and they followed suit. Reid made his way into the bullpen, clearly intent on finding his date. Rossi was out the door and into the snow before JJ had even pulled her coat on.

"You done playing with your online buddies?" Hotch heard Morgan ask Garcia, followed by the sound of a gentle slap. "Let's go get some food from Jolene's before my taste buds are eaten by this bug."

"That's if Jolene's not too busy with Romeo Rossi," Emily said. She hadn't moved from table yet and Hotch wondered if she had done more damage to her ankle than he'd realised.

Morgan chuckled. "And that's all part of the fun. Come on, baby-girl, let's go join Uncle Dave for a nice friendly beer. We might even be able to crash Reid's date while we're at it."

"You," Garcia said, poking Morgan with a brightly coloured finger nail, "are not playing nice. While Agent Rossi definitely needs a nice dunking in a cold shower, Spencer, my sweet honey pie, should be left alone. And besides, that Officer Kate has balls. She'll eat you for breakfast if you get in her way."

Morgan nodded his head sarcastically. "I have never yet come across any woman who could do that..." he ducked as a pen shot passed his head, then laughed.

"Penelope, take him away from me before I throw something heavier at him," Emily, the thrower of the pen said, her eyes back on the files.

"Hey, Prentiss, I've known for quite awhile that you've had to stop yourself many a time, from throwing yourself at my feet..."

"Out!" Garcia ordered, grabbing her coat and closing her laptop. "Out! Otherwise you won't have enough arms to defend yourself!" She bundled him out of the door, muted laughter still audible from outside.

Emily put closed the file she had been reading. "You want to get some food, Hotch?" she said. "Maybe not Jolene's – if anywhere else is open."

Indecision overwhelmed him. If he said no, he would hurt her feelings, and leave her alone; saying yes would open up a new realm of possibilities, ones that he wasn't sure he could handle. He liked her company; in some ways she was a kindred spirit and he knew that was why he was drawn to her, and out of all of his team she was the one he would like to spend a quiet evening with. Out of most people, in fact.

"Hotch," she said, her tone confident and forceful. "It's just dinner. I promise we can talk about work."

He gave a slight laugh, more at the fact she had profiled him correctly yet again than the humorous sarcasm. "Sure. And I agree; Jolene's is not a good idea."

She took her coat and a fleecy scarf that she had acquired from somewhere and grabbed one of the crutches to give her support, then led the way outside. It had dropped to about minus twelve centigrade, although the brisk wind which had plagued the town earlier had now ceased.

A low light was on in a restaurant named Blueberries, a sign that life was in there. They walked the hundred or so metres to it and Hotch tried the door to no avail. They had just turned their backs to go to Jolene's when he heard the click of a lock.

"You need feeding?" a deep voice said. "I've not got much in, but it'll be good."

He faced the doorway where a stout man with a long beard stood, a chef's apron over checked trousers. He looked kindly, despite his deep voice and unsmiling face.

"I'm making a beef roast for myself and my wife – there's enough for two feebies."

"Thank you," Emily said. "That'd be great." She walked through the door before him, resting on hand on the wall to steady herself. Hotch found himself putting hand on her hip as she climbed up the half a dozen steep stairs that led to the restaurant area. Even through her thick coat, he could feel the heat from her skin, a tantalising warmth that made him remove his touch, his hand burnt.

It was an addictive pain.

"Take a seat wherever. We're not officially open tonight due to the obvious, but seeing as you are who you are, this is on the house," the man said. "I'm Will Taylor – pleased to meet you." He held out his hand to Hotch first, then Emily. "Can I get you some wine or a beer?"

Hotch shook his head. "We've a very early start, so just coffee for me."

"Same here," Emily said, choosing a table near the window and pulling off her coat. "Thank you for doing this."

Will shrugged. "Like I said, you're here to help get that poor girl back. I'll leave you to your chatting and get you your coffees." He disappeared behind an old panelled wooden door, leaving them in silence.

Hotch watched Emily's face as she pretended to be interested in the snow patterned window and the twinkling lights from outside. In any other job, this situation would not have occurred. If they were any other people, they wouldn't be able to read each other in this way: things that were meant to be hidden would remain hidden, and now they had a situation that needed solving.

"You were right to say what you did about the missing men," he said. Work was safe, that they could hide behind. "We have no idea where Graham Needham is now."

She nodded, still not looking at him. "He may well be dead already." Eventually she turned and looked at him, her lips unsmiling. "You have a theory about where they are, don't you?"

His face relaxed a little. They had discussed the profile before, ready to give it tomorrow to Winters' team, and he had developed certain theories in his own mind to do with the whereabouts of the men. He'd said nothing though; it was a theory based on previous cases and his own profile of the male UnSub. It surprised him though how she had known.

"I could tell by the way you brushed off Morgan's questions you had already worked something out," she explained. Her eyes were back to shining again, her interest piqued. He felt himself relax now that they were on safer ground.

"He's keeping them," Hotch said. "It's likely the male UnSub owns a significant amount of land, that - like Baker's - is isolated. He keeps his victims alive until he is bored with them or they die due to repeated torture, then he buries them on his property.

She nodded. "It's a pattern we've seen before. Dennis Nielson disposed of his victims in his garden, the Wests buried theirs under floorboards and in their yard. Jeffrey Dahmer too – it's trophy taking at its grandest. But why not put that in the profile?"

Hotch moved his eyes away from hers briefly, letting Will bring in the coffee and place cutlery down on the table before he continued.

"What is being done to these girls is horrific, and we need to catch whoever is responsible. I need everyone focusing on finding Baker. If we released more details about the missing men, the officers will become distracted. They will try to multi task," he said, looking back at Emily, her expression now perturbed.

"But there are possibly double the number of dead men than there are girls," she shook her head, the thought puzzling her. "I know, I know why we've prioritised the girl case. We've always had more evidence. We don't have anything significant on the missing men – no bodies, no notes or clothes."

Hotch remained silent, watching her as she poured the coffee. The tension between them was rising again. He knew he was acutely aware of every move she made, every shift of her leg, every smile, frown, glance. It was as if he was tied to her, and whet ever she did pulled him in some direction.

"You think we'll get Baker tomorrow?" she said eventually, stirring her coffee far more than it needed.

"No," he said. The word filled the empty air.

She looked at him strangely. "You're doing the raid for the officers, aren't you?"

He nodded. "They have to do something. We will find things there," he said. "Things that tell us more about Baker. I suspect we'll find his father's body, but not Carla's."

"He won't have been there for weeks," she said, using both hands to hold the mug, her elbows on the table. It fascinated him, how she held the coffee, the way she sank into her surroundings, never uncomfortable when she shouldn't be, never anything less than self assured.

He remembered Haley and her obsession with always doing what was perceived to be the _right_ thing, to show the _right_ manners, to dress in the _right_ way. _No elbows on the table_, her mother had always told them. When they were younger they'd done it on purpose, just to antagonise. But slowly, surely, Haley had started the same mantra. Always what they _should_ be doing, never what they wanted to.

Emily Prentiss didn't care about doing the right thing. For all her awkwardness, for all her inelegance at the small things, she had a core, a centre, which was firm and strong and didn't care what anyone else thought. He'd got her so wrong at first.

"It may be more like months," Hotch said. "He'll have been staying with friends and even staying with Wells. His father's death may have been a trigger along with Carrie's abortion."

"It may have been what caused his temperament to change and resulted in Carrie becoming disillusioned with him. If she had been so under his spell that she abandoned her friends, it's unlikely that she'd consider a termination. Something altered," Emily said, putting down the mug and stretching her arms back away from the table.

Will appeared with their food; plates piled high with beef and roast potatoes, steaming hot vegetables and gravy. Hotch smiled slightly at seeing the reaction on Emily's face. She looked as if she had just found heaven.

"I see that you're hungry," he said as the plates were put before them. It smelt good, and he felt his stomach rumble, prompted by the aroma. "Thanks, Will."

"You're welcome. Tuck in. I'm in the back if you need anything – just shout," the older man said, his chef's apron still spotlessly clean.

"You reckon it's actually his wife who does the cooking?" Emily said, in between blowing on a hot pile of potato. "When I make something like this I end up swimming in gravy."

"You think he likes people to assume he's the chef?" Hotch said, taking a rather hot mouthful of roast beef. It tasted as good as it smelled.

Emily nodded, her mouth to full to respond and he noticed a dot of gravy at the corner of her lips. The urge was to lean over and wipe it away, but this was no date, or even friends meeting for a meal. He was eating with a colleague.

"Have I got something round my mouth?" she said, swallowing. "You keep staring."

He'd been caught out. "Just a bit of gravy," he said, now feeling mortified.

She shot him a smile and dabbed at it with the paper napkin. "Morgan once let me go a whole night with ketchup on the side of my face after eating a burger," she said. "He was lucky to survive."

He laughed, this time not stifling it. She was the only woman he knew who would go a whole night without checking in the mirror. Haley had carried a powder case about with her and had insisted checking her reflection whenever they reached somewhere, or had just eaten, or she'd had a drink. Always wanting to be correctly presented.

Prentiss was diametrically opposite... and why was he comparing her to his ex-wife?

"You should laugh more often, Hotch," she said, taking a breather from ingesting the pile of veg. "Not everyone will see a weakness if you show that you're human."

He mock-glared at her, and she laughed, her hand moving up to cover her mouth and knocking the empty cup of coffee over, which made her laugh even more.

"At least it was empty," she sighed, putting it straight. "I've always been clumsy, much to my mother's disgust." She looked up at him. "I was not the perfect little princess daughter she wanted."

"Things have improved with her, haven't they?" he said, cutting the meat.

She looked thoughtful. "I guess. I see very little of her, so when we do speak to each other or meet up, we have something to say other than her make jibes about the fact that I'm a childless spinster." The last words were said with irony, but there was a truth to them, he knew.

"That's you rebuking yourself, not your mother," he said. "You know you have no issue getting dates..."

"Until they realise I'm a nerd," she interrupted. "I had this conversation with Morgan just after I started in the BAU. Everything's fine, until we talk, and then geek girl appears..."

"And you don't want her to go away," he said, his knife and folk now down on the place mat, more intent on her than his food.

She shrugged. "I don't see why I have to change for anyone. I guess that's why my mother and I fell out on so many occasions, but after trying for so long to fit in to each place we went to, I gave up and just decided to be me."

Hotch nodded. "That shows your strength," he said. "A lot of people don't have that inner conviction."

Emily forked another pile of carrots and mash into her mouth, nodding her head in agreement. "Embrace your inner nerd," she said after swallowing. "Eat – it'll get cold. Or, if you're full - "

He gave her the glare again. "This is dinner combined with breakfast, because we won't be eating at two in the morning." He checked his watch. "We should try to get some sleep soon. I'll go into Jolene's on the way back to the motel and remind them."

"Hotch," she said. "When have you _needed_ to remind them of anything?"

He inhaled deeply and raised his eyebrows, almost shrugging. "It's my job," he said. It was a good line, a great excuse. One that he was using a lot right now, especially now her leg had just brushed against him.

He found she was looking directly at him, freezing time, preserving one of those moments that hung in the air for an eternity. "Aaron," she said, her voice unsure, unsteady, a rocking boat.

"Prentiss?" He did it on purpose, using her surname, destroying the familiarity. Arm's length. Control. Within the paradigm.

"Nothing," she said, softly. She knew what he had done, and she knew why.

They finished the meal in silence, but not a comfortable one. He was far too aware of her, too conscious of her movements, of the way her hair shone in the dimmed light, of the passing thoughts that crossed her face.

"Was everything okay with the food?" Will said, shortly after they had both finished eating.

"It was delicious, thank you." Hotch stood up, pulling out his wallet.

"No, no," Will said, putting his hand up in protest. "This is on the house. I ain't trying to bribe you, just making sure you got enough energy to do what you do. You just make sure you come back here when you caught that nasty piece of work with the rest of your team."

Hotch nodded, keeping his eyes on the man, and put his wallet away. Will was too old to go looking for Carla like some of the rest of the town had, so this was his way of helping. Hotch wasn't going to begrudge him that.

The temperature had dropped even lower and the snow had finally ceased slightly when they left Blueberries. Hotch refrained from helping Emily down the stairs, not wanting to offend her and not wanting to lead his mind into any more temptation.

"You still think it's a good idea heading down to Baker's when the ground's like this?" she said, half way across the road, sliding her foot along to make her point.

He shook his head. "But if we don't, some may go anyway. We know what we'll find."

"We could be wrong," she said. "We could find Baker tucked up nice and cosy, with Carla in a warm bed elsewhere and him having not laid a finger on her."

"We've seen too much to still believe in fairy-tales." He looked up to Harney Peak, its top glistening silver in the false light and dark grey ceiling.

"Well, I certainly stopped looking for princes some years ago," she said, self-depreciating. "They just couldn't be found." He gave no response, not wanting to give himself away.

They reached her room first; she had the keys already but fumbled with cold fingers, trying to get the key into the lock.

"Here, let me," he said, his fingers grazing hers. The door clicked open and she gave a rueful smile.

"Even clumsier when I'm cold," she said, her eyes reading his. He wondered how much she could see.

"Your clumsiness is not a bad trait," he said. "It makes you human, rather than some fairy-tale character." He was being honest, almost, his words chosen carefully as always.

She gave him a smile, her cheeks looking a little flushed with embarrassment, and she turned to go into her room. "See you in five hours, Hotch," she said, looking back at him. "Try and get some sleep."

"You too," he stepped away, then paused. "And Emily?"

"Sir?"

"You're not a nerd."

___________________________________________________

_Please feed the review whore..._

_Next chapter in two days (Monday evening UK time)_

_Sarah x_


	17. Chapter 17

Calverville Point, South Dakota

_Again, thank you for the reviews, especially to those who review each chapter._

_I hope you enjoy..._

'Because I am a mother, I am capable of being shocked: as I never was when I was not one.'  
- Margaret Atwood

Chapter 17

A sliver of light from outside peaked through the curtains onto Henry's face, and JJ leant over him to pull them closer. His temperature was now what it should be and he was sleeping peacefully, as was his daddy, undisturbed by her movements. She hadn't really slept; every time she'd closed her eyes she'd seen Carla Jackson's face, vacant eyes seeing nothing.

JJ bent down and kissed her son lightly on his head, inhaling the scent of baby that was only just still there. It was her favourite smell in the whole world, one she wished she could bottle – or better still, have him remain as a baby, then the evils of the world would never touch him.

"Be safe, Jayje," she heard Will mutter as she opened the door. She almost wished she could discard the Kevlar vest and crawl back into bed, into sleep, and forget all about murder and men who did horrible things to young girls; but then she knew why she did it, and she gave that reason a last glance before closing the door as silently as she could.

Emily was vacating her room at the same time, her hair pulled back into the pony tail style she favoured when their task was a physical one. She looked pale after her virus and was still not bearing much weight on the sore ankle.

"What's Hotch said about you being in on this?" JJ said once they were out of earshot of anyone who might be woken.

"Nothing yet," Emily said. "I imagine I'll be told to stay toward the back rather than at the front. I can walk fine on it, but kicking doors down might take another week or so." She gave her a tired smile. "I'd only just gotten off to sleep when Hotch's alarm clock went off."

JJ gave her a puzzled look. "Were you in Hotch's room?"

Emily laughed, clearly finding that thought amusing. "God, no. The walls are paper thin so it woke me as well as him. Mine went off five minutes later."

"You went for dinner together last night – anything you want to tell me?" JJ found that this conversation was waking her up nicely. She noticed a strange look cross her friend's face.

Emily shook her head. "It was... awkward. I think he knows that I'm attracted to him," she said slowly.

"He feels something back," JJ said as they left the motel to walk over to the station. "It's obvious."

Emily sighed, shaking her head. "Maybe he does. Jayje. But there's nothing we can do about it is there? He's my superior." She gave a wan smile.

"I don't think it's as black and white as that." JJ saw Rossi and Reid stood near the station door, deep in conversation. "We'll talk about this later, but I don't think you should lose heart about it, Emily." She put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and headed inside to where Deputy Rawson was stood. He was a nice guy, quiet but unassuming, with an intelligence that wasn't obvious until you became deep in conversation with him.

"JJ," he said. He looked tired, and she remembered that he had a new baby at home, so had probably had less sleep than everybody else.

"How's Jessica?" she said, giving him a smile. Since having Henry she'd found that she enjoyed the new relationship she could form with other people. Mothers and fathers of victims responded differently when they found out she could empathise with them because she had her own son. It wasn't fair, she knew. Emily and Morgan had the emotional intelligence to understand as well, but parents related differently to her.

"She's... not sleeping well. Which you can probably guess." He pointed to his red-rimmed eyes. "Colic," he explained. "It's not conducive to a good night's sleep. How's Henry?"

"Much better, thank you. His temperature's back to normal and he's smiling again. It's so nice to have him here, even if I haven't managed to spend much time with him," she said, smiling as she did whenever she spoke of her son.

Rawson nodded; his darting round the room to check his team. There were about twenty five officers present; the number Hotch had said would be suitable for a search on the main ranch house and outbuildings. The atmosphere was tense, the expressions on the men's faces grim and severe. They were ready for war, it seemed, and JJ understood Detective Winters' motivation for wanting to search Baker's official address, even though they predicted it would be futile. "There's been no sighting of Baker at the college," Rawson said. "A few of the officers did a door to door search, but no one had seen him. They've found his friend though."

"Has he been brought here to the station?" JJ said. They knew that Michael Rosen was covering for his friend. With a little bit of pressure there was a chance he would pass on some useful information.

Rawson shook his head. "The road into the campus is completely blocked and they can't send snow ploughs until the morning. Two of the men are taking shifts staying outside his door so he can't disappear, and your analyst has tapped his phone. Luckily he must be the only person on the planet who doesn't have a cell, so he can't contact his buddy that way." He glanced over to the door where Hotch was now standing, checking his watch. It was time to begin.

JJ stood at the side, next to Deputy Rawson, as Hotch began his instructions. For a good number of the officers, this was the first time they had done such a raid and they listened intently, hanging on his every word. A few were more experienced and nodded as he went over certain points, as if in agreement. The would enter the main building in three waves; the FBI agents and Winters first, followed by Rawson leading a second wave, then Officer Atwell in a third. The four outbuildings were small enough to be checked by two groups of three officers; they were unlikely to be being used to house Carla due to their size, although Baker may have thought to have used them as a hide out, had the weather been warmer.

The three black FBI vehicles were parked outside the station, ready to take them down toward the ranch. The roads were iced over, the temperature to low for salt to make much of a difference, but the tractors that the officers were travelling down on would hopefully clear some of the snow. JJ noticed Hotch opening the door for Emily to climb into the car he was driving. His glance lingered a little too long and she wished she could stick them in a locked room for a few hours alone, although she wasn't sure that would make any difference, given that both of them were over-cautious and tended to over-think things. They'd spend the whole time debating something mundane and complete avoid what was going on right in front of them. She sighed, wondering if to talk to Garcia about it and get her on the job.

The journey to the ranch was taken in silence with Morgan driving and Reid sat quietly in the back. He'd said nothing so far about his dinner with Katie the night before, and she was reluctant to ask, just in case it hadn't gone so well. Tension was beginning to build inside the vehicle, even though none of them expected to find neither Carla nor Baker on the premises. Hotch had hinted as much to the rest of the officers, wanting to prepare them for it, but had stressed that it was important to check anyway, as they could be wrong.

And it was that possibility that was pulsating adrenaline through JJ's veins and making her more awake than she should be at two-fifteen am. The white landscape blurred passed, Morgan keeping up with Hotch in front. Rossi was behind with several of the officers with him, probably recounting stories of other pre-dawn raids.

They parked at the top of the slope leading down to the ranch house. All lights were off, the place in complete darkness. Only the reflection of the moon peeking out from behind the clouds on the snow gave them any light.

JJ followed Morgan and Rossi down to the rear entry of the main building. Hotch, Emily and Reid were taking the front, Winters with them. She felt her pulse rate rising, her vision more clear and focused with the adrenaline and the apprehension. You never knew what you would find.

Hotch's call to enter came through her earpiece and she followed Rossi into the building after Morgan had kicked down the wooden door with his brute strength. They walked into a kitchen, their torches casting large beams around. Rossi opened a pantry door and she heard something scuttle at the light. Rats, she suspected.

"Clear," Morgan said, standing near the door to the dining area. JJ backed him up as he pushed open the door. The house felt empty; there was no feeling of their being anyone else in there bar them.

"Hotch," she heard Rossi talk into the gadget on his wrist. "We're at the stairs – going up." Hotch gave his affirmation and she followed Rossi up the wooden stairs, their footfalls echoing through the house's dark silence.

Morgan opened the first door they came to, Rossi shining his torch inside. The room was barely furnished, just an old, unmade bed, a wardrobe and a dresser with half-empty perfume bottles on it. Dusty cobwebs were visible when their torches lit the walls and a thick layer of dust coated the wooden floor. "The old master bedroom," Morgan said in an undertone. They backed away slowly; four more rooms to check.

The next room was darkened by the blackout curtains at the window, blocking even the slightest shard of light from getting in. JJ shone her torch round, her eyes catching sight of a mass on the slim single bed. "Switch the light on, Derek," she said, stepping into the small room.

The weak light fell over the decomposing body of who has probably been Baker's father. The skin and most of the tissue had gone, leaving dry bone and tattered clothing.

"Sweet Jesus," Rossi said, walking up to the corpse. "Hotch predicted as much. I'd say he's been dead nine months which would put it just before Carrie was killed."

"There's no smell," Morgan said, moving to the curtains and pulling them back. "Baker's opened the windows. That's why it's so cold in here."

Rossi informed Hotch of the find and then they went on to check to other three rooms. One belonged to a girl, probably Baker's sister, although the wardrobe doors were open, the clothes removed, and the drawers looked as if they had been ransacked. Again, the layer of dust sat thickly over every surface, untouched for years rather than months.

The last room was belonged to Baker and it looked a little more recently used. The bed hadn't been made and the sheets emitted a stale smell of sweat and dirt. The walls were bare of posters, yet next to the mirror was a photo in an old gilt frame of a girl with brown hair and eyes, smiling at the camera. The two girls next to her had been scribbled out with black marker.

"Dave, Morgan – look at this," JJ said, picking up the picture. "This could have been his high school crush."

"She looks just like the first victim," Dave said. "We need to identify her. We'll get crime scene to bag it as evidence."

He had just finished speaking when Hotch's voice came into their ear pieces, his words brief. He was in the basement, they were to join him.

The second wave of officers had just entered; their voices slightly audible. This time the lights would be switched on, cupboards would be opened and a more thorough check would be undertaken. That meant Carla was not here; downstairs was clear too and the girl was elsewhere. JJ glanced through a dirty window as she followed Morgan downstairs. The snow had started again. If Carla was anywhere without heating she'd be struggling to survive.

"JJ," she heard Emily's voice. "Brace yourself." Her friend's face was taut, her eyes concerned and JJ looked at her questioningly. Emily shook her head and turned around, walking back down the hallway to the basement steps, her message delivered.

It was cold, the stone walls lighted by a single light bulb that hung like a captured star from the ceiling. The walls were bare, save for four metal hooks that stuck out like sharp teeth. A pile of magazines, they type they'd expect to be owned by a sexual sadist sat in one corner, neatly placed, and a wooden plinth lay prostrate on two stone blocks.

JJ looked around for the thing Emily had warned her about and saw Hotch and Reid studying a shelf. She walked over, her footfalls echoing on the stone floor.

Hotch glanced at her as she stood next to him, and he gestured to the jar, filled with fluid and something else.

"It's a foetus," she heard Reid say. "About ten weeks old."

"Whose?" she said, quietly, but her voice demanding.

"We don't know. Possibly Carrie's," Hotch said. "He's preserved it in formaldehyde so we can pull DNA."

"But Carrie had an abortion..." JJ began.

"She had appointments booked at an abortion clinic. There are no records to say that she actually went through with it." JJ felt Emily's hand on her back. "Let's get out of here. It's clear."

Hotch nodded. "Two of us will come back in the morning to see what more we can learn about Baker. We may find some information as to where his den is."

JJ followed Emily back up the uneven stairs, fatigue beginning to hit her now the adrenaline had evaporated. She pushed the image of the jar and its contents out of her mind, trying to remember Henry and his smile, and that beautiful baby smell, but all she could feel was desperation for the girls and a plummeting feeling of dread.

-------------------------------------------

"So," Emily said, looking around at her colleagues who had bags under their eyes that were much the same as hers. "We now give the profiles of the people we suspect are abducting men." She rested her head on her arm. "In a place as small as this, how can there be two serial killers at the same time? This isn't fair."

Hotch looked across the table at her. She'd wondered why he'd chosen to sit directly opposite instead of next to her, but had tried not to give it too much thought. "Unfortunately, fair doesn't come into it. We know the officers are going to be perturbed by their being two UnSubs for this one, so be prepared for questions, especially as one is a female."

They all nodded, standing up almost simultaneously. "Prentiss," she heard Hotch's voice. "I'd like you to open."

She raised her eyebrows at him, a little surprised. Generally, it was him or Rossi who began. For him to ask her was unusual to say the least. "Sure," she said, nodding, just a little disconcerted. There were, she knew, several cops from out of Calverville Point, who had been drafted in to boost man power, and their reaction to profiling was unknown.

The bullpen was packed with bodies; most of the officers from the morning's raid were back, wanting to stay for this before going to catch up on missed sleep. She looked around, collecting herself and controlling her breath.

A hush fell on the room as the doorway between the bullpen and their conference room was closed and Emily stepped forward, ignoring the look Morgan had shot Hotch.

"We believe that two people are involved in the disappearances of several men from this area. The first is a woman," a look of shock appeared on the faces of those officers she could see close to her. "She is in her twenties and has spent most of her life in the care system. She has moved to Calverville Point within the last five years, so we can estimate her age to be around 23. She is attractive enough for men to want to talk to her, and comes across as being sociable and friendly. She is meeting these men at some point in the two days prior to their disappearance, but probably doesn't work in a bar; it's more likely to be in a cafe or diner."

Hotch moved next to her, close enough for her to smell his cologne. She kept a poker face as the scent engaged her pulse, making it race.

"The second UnSub is her partner. He is likely to be significantly older than her, probably in his mid to late forties, and represents a father figure. She has met him as an authoritative figure, and he may have been the only male role model that she doesn't see as having abused her, she may even see him as being her saviour. He is likely to be a sexual sadist, and uses her to bring him his 'toys'. After the men have been lured back to the house he is probably torturing them and holding them for several weeks until he tires of them," Hotch said. A few murmurs had gone round the crowd and Emily suspected that there would be quite a few questions.

"They are living in an isolated location which contains a big enough basement to hold two or three men at the same time. You have probably met this man, although you will know very little about him," Morgan's voice crept around the room. He sounded slightly nasally, the cold virus having finally gotten to him, as he'd predicted. "He is a loner. He doesn't socialise, although his colleagues will have encouraged him to come out with them on several occasions, and people will describe him as being odd. He will have looked after an elderly mother for many years leading up to her death, although that may not have been in this area."

Reid's hands were in his pockets, his arms slightly huddled in to his sides, and he walked around the small bit of space he was in as he began to talk. "The victims are random. They are selected by the female according to how they react to her. She is looking for men whom she is unknown to, and are obviously attracted to her. She may suggest a bar or restaurant for them to go to, and she picks them up while they are walking back to their house or motel. She probably entices them in with the promise of a nightcap."

Rossi waited for a few seconds before concluding their profile. He looked thoughtful, as if he was still trying to make sense of something. "So far, there have been no bodies. This profile is based on similar cases. Killers do follow a particular pattern. These two are intelligent individuals who are both sociopaths. They feel absolutely no remorse for what they are doing. They are disposing of the bodies in such a way that they will not be discovered. If they think or suspect that we are close to identifying them, they are likely to escalate considerably, to the extent they will go on a rampage and take as many lives as possible, before taking their own. Please be discreet in your enquiries."

"Any questions?" Hotch said as a buzz went around the room.

An officer Emily hadn't seen before put his hand up. "It's going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Calverville is not a small area, there are many isolated places, and quite a few weirdos," a laugh punctuated his remark. "How are we going to narrow it down?"

"Our technical analyst is currently looking through databases to identify young women in the area who have been in care and fit the age range. We will then cross reference this with women who work in diners and cafes, although that may be difficult due to the amount of people employed casually. You can help us there by telling us of any attractive, flirtatious young women you've met in those places," Hotch said.

Another voice shouted across the hum of noise that was building. "We've already got one killer to find, and now you're telling us we've got two more. We're stretched as it is. How are we meant to investigate both?"

"You prioritise finding Edmund Baker," Rossi said, after glancing at Hotch. "We have more information on him, and as we have no proof of the actual murder of the missing men, we have to also consider the possibility that they are just that – missing. Although we do not believe that to be the case."

Emily noticed Reid's date pushing her way to the front. "What makes you think it's a woman involved?" Katie Walsh said, her blonde hair neatly clipped back into a pony tail, much the same as Emily's and JJ's. Emily hadn't noticed her on the raid that morning, but she was dressed as if she had been there.

"It is rare to have a female serial killer, but they do exist," Emily answered, noticing that the room had fallen a little quieter as she answered the question. "It is also less unusual to have one who works in a pair with a more dominate male figure, which is what we believe to be happening here. He is using the female to charm the men into the car and then bring them back to him. She is also likely to take part in the torture, potentially taking what she sees as revenge for mistreatment she may have been subjected to as a child and teenager." Katie nodded, stepping back into the crowd.

"What about the mayor's son?" Another voice rang out. "Do you suspect him to be dead?"

"There are some discrepancies," Hotch said. "The other men have all gone missing on a Tuesday or a Wednesday, where are Mayor Cavendish's son disappeared on a different day." He did not elaborate any more, clearly not wanting to share the theory that the disappearance of the Cavendish man was a cover-up to get him out of trouble.

"If there are any more questions, please do not hesitate to ask," Hotch said loudly. The officers had broken off into groups, clearly discussing what they had just been told. Hotch caught her eye and nodded toward the conference room. Rossi and Reid were already on their way in there, Morgan was talking with two of the cops and JJ was on her cell.

"Hotch," Emily said quietly, sitting down next to him this time. "Why did you ask me to start?"

He remained looking at the table. "We were discussing a female serial killer. It would sound more plausible coming from you rather than me. It's easier for a man to place the blame on a woman, but when a woman does it, it appears to have more substance."

Garcia entered the room, having spent the time during the profile elsewhere; they weren't something she liked to be party to. Her hair had changed colour since the day before, now containing strands of blue and purple near the nape of her neck, shown off with her hair being in a French twist. Emily knew why she spent the time altering her appearance; it was escapism, a way to get away from the pictures she had to look at and the things she had to read about.

"Don't think, just for one minute," she said, dropping a bundle of papers on to the table in a rather formidable fashion, "that you are not getting out of buying me chocolate just because I'm here. Is that understood? Especially after digging up some of the most depraved examples of human behaviour." She glared around at them. "This is the background information on young women living in the area who have been in care for most of their adolescence, and in some cases childhood. A lot, I'm happy to say, were treated well. However, there are a few who were not so lucky. I focused on those." She turned her back and went straight out, only for JJ to enter clutching her cell tightly in one hand and her expression grim.

Emily stood up, she had a feeling she knew what JJ was about to say.

"He's taken another girl," she said. "Sophie Tucker."

Emily slammed back down into her seat, words escaping her.

"She had an officer with her," Rossi said. "And her mother – where was her mother?"

JJ shrugged. "The officer on guard was withdrawn as they wanted an extra body to search the campus and they thought he was unlikely to take another while he had Carla and the weather was so bad. Her mother – we don't know. She's not in the house and her car's not there." JJ rubbed her eyes, with tiredness and disbelief.

"Who's just reported it in?" Hotch said, standing up himself and pulling on his jacket.

"The officer who was there yesterday evening asked to be dropped back off there. The back door was open and there are faint footprints across the garden and drag marks, although more snow has fallen on them since," JJ said.

"Does Winters know?" Rossi said, also standing.

JJ shook her head. "Assi contacted the deputy, who phoned me. Deputy Rawson has said that there's no let up in the road conditions. They're going to try to bring Rosen down here for questioning as soon as they can, but Rawson was almost involved in an accident earlier and he's doubtful about driving."

"Hotch," Morgan said. "You and Prentiss were round at the Tuckers a couple of days ago – it's walking distance isn't it?"

"It was a twenty minute walk," Emily said, finally managing to heave herself together. "In snow like this, it might take us twice that. This shouldn't have happened. We told Winters that Sophie was a prime target..."

"I know," the words were soft but firm, and the look in Hotch's eyes made sure she didn't continue talking. "But we now have to find her. I'll go speak with Winters, and we'll all head down there. "

Emily watched him leave the room, not caring if anybody noticed her stare. As he got to the door, he turned and gave her a slight glance, almost as if his eyes were asking if she was alright. She nodded her head, almost imperceptibly and felt herself steadying, ready to head back out into the snow and search for another missing girl.

---------------------------------------

_Please review – let me know how you think it's going._

_Sarah x_


	18. Chapter 18

_Thank you for the reviews for the last chapter. Anonymous – the spelling of fetus as foetus was deliberate. I'm in England and use the English rather than American spelling. I'm sorry if it confused you, but it will appear in later chapters too as that spelling._

_Thank you to __**Lily Moonlight **__for the read through._

_Hope you enjoy this offering, my gods..._

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.'  
- Anais Nin

Chapter 18

Their feet trudged through the snow, its wetness soaking their legs and chilling every sinew and every vein. A watery sun had broken through the clouds, illuminating a strange weak yellow light. Dawn had happened some time before, but it had never really gained any momentum, and there was a sense of it being earlier in the day then actually was.

They walked close to the trees, where the snow wasn't quite so thick. Detective Winters had had one of the shop owners to open up and issue them with suitable footwear, as none of them had anticipated dealing with these weather conditions when packing, but even with gaiters on and tough walking boots, it was still difficult, particularly knowing that this scenario could have been avoided.

Emily glanced round at the rest of the team. JJ had stayed back at the station, along with Morgan whose temperature was uncomfortably high. They had started to read through the information Garcia had deposited, leaving Rossi, Reid, herself and Hotch to look at what Baker had left behind, if anything.

The house looked no prettier covered in snow than it had two days ago. Its chipped paintwork and scarred bricks were still visible, scars from its past left on show. The front door was open, and Emily could hear a familiar voice shouting as she drew closer.

"Are you sure she's not at her friend's? Have you even bothered to check? She can't have gone missing – she's too goddamn sensible..." The voice began to shake and Emily upped her pace as best she could.

"Mrs Parker," she said as she hobbled up the stairs into the house. The pristine interior had been spoilt by violence as well as the atmosphere that now lived there. Ornaments had been knocked off the mantelpiece and there was a smear of dark red blood against one of the walls. Sophie had put up a fight; that was clear from the detritus that lay around. "Mrs Parker. What time did you leave Sophie?"

The woman, who had aged ten years since Emily had last seen her, shook her head. "I don't know. I guess it must have been about eight pm. My friend's sick – MS, you know – and they were having a bad time. I went to help out. I wanted Sophie to come, but she said she had an assignment to write and she'd be okay... the weather..." she broke down, bitter, comfortless sobs racking here whole body.

Emily sat on the sofa next to her and brought her into her shoulder, offering warmth even if she couldn't offer solace. "Sophie is a fighter. He doesn't know what he's done taking her," she said, believing in her words.

The sobbing continued, bordering on hysterics. The sharp inhalations rapidly becoming out of control, and Emily became worried that the woman was about to make herself sick.

"You need to calm down," she said, holding her shoulders and trying to make eye contact, trying to bring her back into stability. "We need you to tell us things that might help us find Sophie." Emily shook her slightly, which shocked Mrs Parker into opening her eyes and gasping for more air, her cries becoming less out of control.

"Mrs Parker," Hotch's voice came from behind Emily. "Who knew that Sophie was on her own?"

The final choke subsided and the woman looked at Hotch, her eyes wide with fright. "No one. She hadn't even told her friends. We thought that was best."

Hotch nodded. "He's been watching your house. Have you noticed anything strange around you?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. There was nothing. I thought she was safe if she was inside." Her body shook again with the shock. Emily saw Officer Walsh enter the room, her pretty features serious and sad.

"I'm going to leave Officer Walsh with you," she said. "If you think of anything, just shout for me." Emily detached herself from Mrs Parker and gave Walsh a quick look. The officer nodded, taking Emily's seat, and Emily made her way through the kitchen to the garden.

The back door had been forced open, its wooden frame splintered. Emily looked up and saw that the curtains of the window above were open and the light was on. She looked over to where Rossi was stood. "He saw that she was in," Emily said. "She was stood at the window looking at the snow."

Rossi nodded. "She spotted him in the garden. He wouldn't be as camouflaged against the white. When he knew that she'd seen him he had to take her straight away, so he broke in. There was no chance for a rouse."

"He's taken a risk," Emily said. "If we'd discovered her missing earlier, we'd have found his tracks in the snow."

"He thinks he's above being caught," Rossi said. "He's gotten away with it so far even though the FBI are here – he thinks nothing can stop him." Rossi looked around him, taking in the surroundings. "How far is the campus from here?"

"About fifteen minutes in a car," Hotch said. "In these driving conditions in a suitable vehicle."

"Hotch," Emily said, seeing Rossi's thought pattern here. "He killed the first two girls in the woods nearest the college. How did he get them there to begin with?"

"Two ways: they either went with him willingly, which Emmy may have done if Baker told her where Carrie was, or he used chloroform," Hotch said, his brow creased.

"If it was the latter, then he had already planned to kill Carrie. Let's assume that the foetus at the ranch was Carrie's. He had to have taken her somewhere to remove it. I don't think she was killed in the woods, although I think Emmy was. His hide out is near to the college," she looked at him triumphantly. "We know there were a couple of girls he was likely to come back for: Sophie and Jenna. Why choose Sophie?"

"Because she's more easily accessible and he probably knows she left alone more. Convenience on two accounts," Reid said, appearing from inside the house. "I think this tells us something about Carla. He's never taken two girls at the same time before."

"Maybe," Hotch said. "It could also be that his confidence is growing and he wants them to feed off each other's fear. We can't give up on Carla yet. And Emily's right, his hide out is likely to be near the campus. I'll have Garcia narrow the search."

Emily walked round the periphery of the garden, her feet sinking into the soft snow. She could hear Rossi and Reid discussing methods of abduction and the deteriorating mental state of the UnSub and Hotch giving Garcia instructions over the phone. She stopped at the point where they had found the kit stuffed into the bushes and looked closely at the snow.

"Hotch!" she called, her breath turning cloud-like in the freezing air. "Come take a look at this."

He was beside her in a second, crouching down and examining the spot where the snow had been disturbed. "He looked for his bag first," Hotch said. "Probably checking to see if it had been disturbed." He stood back up again, rubbing his gloveless hands together to warm them.

"Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner?" a small crime scene tech looked at them worriedly. "I'm Dennis Hughes. We think we've found drag marks leading to the front of the house. There's evidence of tire tracks left about five or six hours ago as well. I can't be incredibly precise though."

They followed Hughes to the places he'd noticed, Rossi joining them while Reid went back inside to take a look in Sophie's bedroom. "He's back at his hide-out," Emily said after they had inspected the tracks, the silence around them palpable. Hotch was standing next to her, his hands now tucked into his coat pockets. She could see he was cold; they all were.

"The problem is," Rossi said, glancing up at the thick white sky. "That his hide out could be within several hundred acres of land. It's going to be like searching for a needle in a haystack – we need more to go off."

"Has Rawson contacted you yet about bring Rosen down to the station?" Emily said. Rosen was one avenue that hadn't been completely blocked by the weather. If they applied the right sort of pressure they could potentially make a break-through.

"I've not heard anything. If Rawson is doubtful about driving back over to the station then we'll have to take a chance and go there. If we can get a lead on where the girls might be then I will pull in every possible piece of equipment necessary to find them. But we need that hint first," Hotch said, the quiet determination in his voice the only sign of his frustration.

"Let's go then," Emily said, her eyes focused on only him. "Let's drive up there now – we can take recording equipment and stream it down to Garcia and the rest of the team at the station."

Hotch looked between her and Rossi, then nodded. "You said he was probably homosexual," he said, referring back to the discussion the team had had several hours ago.

Emily nodded. "He's certainly not interested in women and would perceive them as a threat."

"Then you two know how to play it," Rossi said. "Emily knows how to set up the equipment. If you get anything that could lead us to his hideout then we can head straight off there." He began to walk away, back to the house.

Hotch pulled out his cell, pressing a couple of buttons and putting it to his ear. The air was still enough that Emily could hear Deputy Rawson's side of the conversation as well, his tone hushed given his proximity to Michael Rosen.

"We need to speak with Rosen as soon as possible," Hotch said, his eyes on a slight trough in the snow. "If you're not happy with driving him to us, Agent Prentiss and I will come to you."

"The roads are treacherous," Rawson said. "It's like walking on glass around here. I checked the conditions thirty minutes ago, and you would be seriously risking lives by driving."

"But we're risking a life by not driving," Hotch said. Emily could tell by his expression that he was now unsure about them going. He wouldn't be reckless. If it was just him, then yes, maybe. But he wouldn't risk another of his team.

"I've lived in this town all my life," Rawson said. "I've known bad weather. But this is the worst I've ever seen it at this time of year. Please don't drive, Agent Hotchner. If you leave it another three or four hours then the conditions will be better even if it snows again, and they'll be more salt on the roads. I'll bring Rosen to you."

Hotch looked at her, his eyes as dark as coal. "We need to speak with him today. He maybe our only chance of finding the girls alive. If it's too dangerous to bring him down by two pm, then we'll find a way there." He clicked his cell phone shut, the silent stillness enveloping her. "We'll have the rest of the team go through the information Garcia's finding on potential female suspects for the missing men. You and I need to get some rest before we take on Rosen."

"I'm fine, Hotch," she said, standing a little straighter. "We should go through the suspect list too."

Hotch shook his head, the gesture slight. "We need a clear head. Take a bath or a shower, then we'll meet and profile what we can of Michael Rosen. We need to break him." His eyes stared at her, reading her again. "We can catch up on the other case later. I'll have Garcia pull what she can about Rosen too."

Emily nodded, seeing Hotch's point, and she did want a hot bath to try and resuscitate her extremities which were now numb with the cold. They began the walk back to the station, Reid and Rossi catching up and leaving the crime scene technicians to their jobs, the sobs of Sophie's mother still audible through the motionless air.

* * *

Emily was wrapped up in her duvet when a knock sounded at her door. The temperature in her room had dropped considerably, and she'd noticed that the radiator no longer seemed to be working.

She hobbled to the door with the duvet dragging behind her, feeling rather like a young child playing imaginary games. She would have left it on the bed, had she not recognised the knock, but her visitor would understand her strange appearance.

"Hotch," she said, moving away from the doorway so he could enter. "You know anything about the heating in this place?"

He shook his head. "Mine's not working either," he said. "The pipes may have frozen. I've called Morgan to let everyone know they'll probably be warmer at the station." He sat down on her bed, and she was reminded of how he had checked her ankle yesterday, tender fingers examining her flesh. She pushed the recollection away, knowing that she needed to focus.

"Any news on the roads?" she said, sitting next to him, the printouts from Garcia's labours between them.

"Rawson's heading down in about an hour. He thinks that will be the optimum time to drive. We'll start on Rosen as soon as he gets here; let's not give him any time to get comfortable," he said. There was a pause while he seemed to stare at her bed, and she noticed his eyes landing on her nightwear, neatly folded on the pillow. For a second, she felt embarrassed, as if bringing a boy back to her room for the first time and having him analyse her. Then, almost as if he had just been jolted out of another scenario entirely, he remade eye contact with her. "You've met Rosen. How do you propose we go about interviewing him?"

"He's more likely to respond to you as I pose a threat to the way he perceives himself. He lacks confidence and is typically introverted, but going to the gym shows that he is attempting to reinvent himself. I'd say he's suffered from a borderline personality disorder since being a child. If we go about it the right way he shouldn't be too difficult to get talking," she said, tapping the pen she had picked up against her hand.

Hotch nodded. "Garcia has found some information on Rosen's background. He was brought up by his mother after his father left when he was nine. His mother is an outspoken member of the Presbyterian church. Rosen has picked up a caution for solicitation when he was nineteen – that was two years ago – at after which his mother entered him into a recuperation programme ran by a very small and dubious branch of her church."

"He's playing at being straight," Emily said, feeling a wave of sympathy for him. "What's the betting on his father being gay and he was made to leave when Rosen's mother found out."

"Likely scenario," Hotch said. She buried further under the duvet cover, the room devoid of any heat now and her teeth almost chattering.

She looked at Hotch. He showed no outward signs of being cold, but that didn't surprise her. "Are you not cold?" she said. "I have that spare blanket if you want to put something round you."

He shook his head. "We can't work in this temperature," he said. "We know what we're doing and we should head over to the station. I am concerned about staying here tonight if the heating isn't fixed, especially with JJ having Henry with her."

"Have you spoken to the manager about it?" she said, passing him the blanket anyway. He took it from her absent-mindedly and unfolded it.

"Just before I came to you. They have a local heating engineer looking at the boiler, but he's not sure exactly what's wrong and no one else can be brought to fix it until the weather's cleared," he said, now wrapping the blanket around his shoulders.

Emily smiled, the potential solutions to keeping warm having already come to mind. "We may not be spending much time here anyway, if we get information from Rosen," she said. "It could be another night like the last one."

"We need to rest," he said. "I'm going to ask Detective Winters if she can put up JJ, Will and Henry. Rossi, to all intents and purposes is staying elsewhere anyway. It may be that Jolene has a spare room we could use. There are solutions."

He stood up, letting the blanket drop back down to the bed. "Are you okay to walk over to the station?" he said, his eyes meeting hers for the first time since they had stopped discussing Michael Rosen.

She nodded, standing up and shivering as the duvet remained on the bed. "My ankle feels almost back to normal," she said, almost wishing it didn't. "Hotch," she said, knowing what she wanted to say, knowing the offer that she wanted to make.

"Prentiss?"

Her surname curbed her suggestion. He was putting up the boundaries and making sure she was aware of them.

"It's...nothing." And she knew that's all it would be.

_Please review my lovely readers!_

_"At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them." Please give our troops a thought today._


	19. Chapter 19

_Thank yous in abundance to __**Lily Moonlight **__and __**Chiroho**__. Virtual cookies (fat free with extra chocolate are on their way!)_

_Also, thank you as usual to my wonderful reviewers. I really appreciate the every-chapter reviews and your comments!_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'He was my cream, and I was his coffee -  
And when you poured us together, it was something..'  
- Josephine Baker

Chapter 19

"How long have you known Edmund Baker?" Hotch said, sitting on the rather tattered chair JJ had found for the occasion. His tie was off, in Emily's purse for safe-keeping, and his top button was undone. His hair had been casually ruffled by Garcia's hand and his body language was relaxed. JJ knew he was not; in fact, he was anything but.

"About nine months," Michael Rosen said, his arms folded across his chest. He sounded worried, his eyes wide and over-alert. "We met when I joined the gym. He did my induction."

"So you've become good friends?" Hotch said, placing a hand down on the table. "You know him quite well?"

"I guess so," Rosen said. His eyes flickered toward Emily who was standing in the corner, her back against the wall, almost glaring at them. JJ repressed a smile.

"What can you tell me about him?" Hotch said in a most nhitch-like tone. He sounded quietly calm, his voice filled with smooth coffee.

"He's a... he's a great guy. He's popular and people like him. He spends most of his free time at the gym or leading his walking group, and he usually helps people out at the gym, gives them pointers and stuff and he's always got a girlfriend. Always. The ladies like him," Rosen gave a smile that was more fake than a twelve dollar bill. JJ bit her lip, waiting for the ensuing storm. Emily paced from one side of the room to the other, walking right passed JJ who was watching from the tinted window.

"Does _she_ have to be here?" Rosen said, looking at Hotch and not Emily. "She's intimidating."

Hotch smiled. "There have to be two of us present," he said, lying, but Rosen wouldn't know that. "Tell me more about Edmund."

"Eddie's great," he shrugged. "He stays at mine quite a bit. It's better than having to travel all that way back to his dad's. He'd rather be on campus but his father needs him, so he can't stay all the time. I feel sorry for him; having to miss out on some of the best parts of college isn't fair really."

Hotch fell silent, his eyes on Rosen. JJ knew he was assessing every move he made, analysing each action and building up the best plan of attack. Hotch leaned across the table, almost invading Rosen's space. She could see that Rosen didn't feel threatened by Hotch, although he gave another quick look in Emily's direction. She wasn't looking at him; instead she was examining her nails. In fact, JJ could see that she even had an nail file out – an irony in itself given that Emily's worst habit was picking her fingers and nails.

"Michael," Hotch said. He was almost too respectful towards Rosen, as if Rosen had just lost a relative or was about to be told he had an incurable disease. "We think Edmund is involved with the disappearance of the girls in the area. Does he talk about girls much?"

Rosen shook his head vehemently. "Edmund wouldn't do anything like that. He doesn't need to do anything like that. All the girls love Edmund." JJ could see him losing a little of his grasp of reality.

"So Edmund's never spoken to you about wanting to take revenge on women?" Emily said, her voice harsh and cold. "He's never said that women were like the devil?" She moved closer to the table, standing a metre away, her plain black suit making her look imposing and stern.

Rosen seemed fixated by her reddened lips, his eyes glued to them. "No, no, no," he said quietly. "Eddie loves girls. He keeps telling me that. Theodore hates them. It's Theodore you want."

"Do you hate women?" Emily said, stepping closer, her fingernails tapping on the table. "Are you like your father, Michael? Do you prefer men?"

"Prentiss," Hotch said, turning and looking at her. JJ watched Rosen's eyes follow Hotch and Emily as they spoke. "Give the kid a break. He might not know anything. Baker could be innocent."

Emily laughed. "We need the truth, Aaron, and your weak questions haven't found us anything, have they?" She looked at Rosen. "We know that you like Edmund Baker, Michael. We know that you follow him round like a poodle. He's the reason you joined the gym, isn't he? You thought if you were more muscular, if you buffed up, he'd notice you. And he did, just not in the way you'd hoped."

Rosen's face crumpled, his bottom lip rising and his eyes becoming screwed up. His fist hit the table. "I don't feel that way about Eddie!" he said. "I like girls! Men don't do things like _that_ with other men..." His voice wavered.

"I know, Michael," Hotch said soothingly. "I understand. But we need you to tell us if Eddie ever talked about the girls that went missing. He might know something, and because we can't find Eddie to speak to, we need you to speak for him."

"Did he ever talk about the teenagers who were abducted and killed, Michael?" Emily demanded.

Rosen looked up at her, then at Hotch. "Does _she_ need to be here?"

Emily folded her arms. "He's already said. There have to be two of us present," she said, hissed almost. "Did he ever talk about the teenagers?"

Rosen shook his head. "No," he said, looking at the table, at his fingers which were intertwining with each other, repeating the same pattern over and over.

"Didn't your mother teach you that it was a sin to lie?" Emily said. JJ noticed a quick look pass between her and Hotch, almost like a secret language.

Hotch stood up, leaving his seat for Emily to take.

"Eddie never said anything," Michael said. JJ could tell he was withdrawing, falling in volume and almost physically shrinking.

"Did he ever talk about Carrie?" Hotch said. Emily began to subtly play with her hair, winding it into a French pleat. Hotch was resting against the table, semi-crouching. His shirt sleeves were now rolled up, his appearance in complete contrast to that of Emily.

"No," Rosen said.

"Did he ever say anything about Emile?"

"No."

"How about Isabelle? Did he talk about her? Say what he'd done to her?" This time is was Emily, almost whispering, Rosen's eyes watching every movement of her red lips.

"No."

"Are you happy about these girls being killed?" she said, sitting up straight. "Is it what they deserved?" She sounded judgmental, almost like a teacher prising out information from a guilty student.

"No one's blaming you for anything, Michael," Hotch said. "You haven't done anything wrong. But we could use your help."

"I don't know anything," he sounded petulant, sulky, but his expression had altered at Hotch's words, and the sympathy in his voice.

"You may not think it's anything," Hotch said. "You know more than you think, something your mother never understood. She thought you were like your father, and she hated him; called him unnatural, that he was possessed by the devil, but to you he was loving and affectionate, whereas your mother was hard and cold, wrapped in her religion..."

"Quit the bullshit, Aaron. The little imbecile doesn't know anything." The words sounded foreign coming from Emily's mouth and JJ heard Garcia gasp behind her.

"That's never my Emily speaking," Garcia said, edging closer to the window.

"It certainly is," JJ said. She glanced over at Morgan and Rossi, both of whom were also watching intently. "We'll need to make her drink alcohol after this."

"Definitely," Garcia said, pulling up a seat.

"I'm _not _an imbecile," Rosen said. "I got into college didn't I? I...I... _Edmund's_ my friend. He's been good to me." He looked toward the wall, his fingers twitching once more.

"So if you know something," Hotch said. "We need you to tell us. He thinks we're looking for him. If he didn't do this, then he could be scared and hiding out in the cold somewhere. I know you're not an imbecile, Michael. I know that you're mother was wrong and I know that you _can _help us."

Rosen looked up at him with wide eyes. "He goes somewhere sometimes. Says he's going hunting. I asked to come once but he just laughed and said I wouldn't like it."

"Do you know where he goes?" Hotch said, speaking as he would to a small child.

"I followed him once, but I wasn't very good at it. He turned round and saw me so I ran back. He never mentioned it though, he knew I would have been embarrassed. He's good like that," Michael smiled and JJ felt a wash of sympathy for him.

"Where were you when he saw you?" Hotch said. "This is really helpful, Michael."

Michael smiled. "Mother said it was good to help."

"Where were you, Michael?" Hotch prompted, a little more forcefully this time.

Michael nodded, still smiling, looking at Emily now. "I was in the woods near college. I saw Theodore with him."

"Whereabouts in the woods, Michael?" Hotch said, watching him. JJ realised she was holding her breath, waiting, waiting, as if an explosion was about to happen.

"On the track that leads up to Carney Peak."

Hotch stood up, his fingers still resting on the table. "Do you know if that's where Edmund is now?"

Rosen shook his head. "I don't know where he is. I haven't seen him since the gym yesterday. But Theodore will know where he is." He cocked his head on one side, looking at Emily again. "You remind me of my mother."

JJ saw a glance between Hotch and Emily, a brief one, but Rosen caught it. Emily stood, heading for the door, Hotch behind her.

And then the explosion began. Rosen knocked over the table and leapt on Emily, knocking her to the floor, a load crash sounding as bodies hit the hard surface. Hotch pulled him off, restraining him in an instant, but not before Rosen had managed to draw blood from somewhere. Emily was now standing, seemingly unflustered, her head held high and her hand to one ear.

Two officers moved into the room, taking Rosen from Hotch and handcuffing him. Rosen was laughing, his eyes shining dangerously. "You're just like my mother," he said, looking at Emily who was still stood near the open door. "You even wear earrings just like she did."

Spencer Reid didn't actually feel cold. The coat he was wearing was an old duffel style affair, lined with sheepskin and with a hood that made him look rather like a stereotypical Eskimo. He'd picked it up in a thrift store when they had been on a case in Wyoming, back when Gideon had been around, and Elle. Morgan had laughed at his purchase, but he'd felt rather pleased with it, and that feeling had now doubled as he sat on a bench in the freezing weather, the pale sunlight having no effect on the temperature. Katie was sat next to him, her hands buried deep in a pair of mittens and a long scarf wrapped several times around her.

"Try to picture where you usually sit," Reid said, looking at the diner in front of them. "What does it look like?"

Katie smiled, clearly trying not to laugh. "It's always the fourth table on the right, next to the window. I always sit with my back to the exit as Earl likes to face the door."

"Okay," Reid said. "What do you usually order?"

"I have a black coffee, no sugar and Earl likes lattes. If it's the morning we both get raspberry muffins," she opened her eyes and looked at Reid. "Are you sure this will work."

He nodded, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. "You're best closing your eyes – it helps the memory... why are you laughing?"

Blonde curls bobbed up and down. "I feel a little funny sat here with my eyes shut."

Reid froze for a moment, debating his next move and thought what Garcia would tell him to do. He edged closer to her and swung his leg over the bench so he was straddling it. He took his gloves off and rubbed his hands together.

"What are you doing?" Katie said, still laughing. It sounded like Christmas bells across the frozen square.

"Close your eyes," he said, putting his hands tentatively on her shoulders. "Trust me." He felt his heart rate increase a little, not used to being this assertive with a member of the opposite sex – or anyone else for that matter. He cupped his hands over her eyes, moving his head over her shoulder.

"Imagine you're inside the diner," he said, noticing how soft her skin felt under his fingers. He was glad she couldn't see him; he could feel his face reddening, and it wasn't because of the cold. "It's a busy afternoon, maybe it's the school holidays, and you're watching what's going on around you."

"Okay," Katie said. "I can see it. There was a day like that a few weeks ago, before the kids went back to school. It was the same day we caught Mary Chapman pinching secateurs from the hardware store."

"Secateurs? How old was she?" he said, momentarily distracted.

"Eleven. I'll tell you about it later. You can profile her for me. You want to know what the waitresses were like?" she said. He felt her mittened hand fall on his thigh and he jumped slightly. He hoped she hadn't noticed.

"I do, that's what I want you to describe. Who do you see?" The hand was still there, she hadn't noticed. He began to enjoy the feeling of the shared warmth, rather than analysing it, and caught the scent of her perfume as she moved slightly, her head leaning back in him.

"Hettie's there. She's the owner and she's about seventy. Then there's Louisa, Hettie's granddaughter. She's been working there since she was about ten and she'll take over if Hettie ever retires," she paused. "You want to know about waitresses from out of the area." She sighed and he could tell she was trying to pull out a memory. "There was someone there, someone who'd worked in another cafe. I remember her because she had the blondest hair I'd ever seen – baby blonde, almost white."

"How did she act?" Reid said. "Did she serve you?"

"No. But I remember Earl noticing her. She had a cleavage that was causing a stir with one or two of the teenage boys. She seemed nice, a little shy maybe, but she smiled a lot."

Reid slowly removed his hands, noticing that more snow was beginning to fall around them. "You think you'd recognise her if you saw a photo?"

Katie nodded. "Yes." She was smiling, looking at him straight in the eye. She turned towards him and put her hand on his shoulder, pulling herself in and touching his lips with hers.

It was only a brief kiss, but it left Reid grinning. He cast his eyes to the snowy ground and let out a slight laugh. "And now I'll always remember kissing girls in the snow when I wear this coat," he said, a little nervously. "And when I smell your perfume I'll remember sitting on this bench."

She raised her eyebrows at him, an almost teasing smile on her lips. "You're dying to tell me about memory, aren't you?" she said. "I can tell. You can go ahead."

He shook his head as they stood up, preparing to go back to the station where he would catch up on what had happened with Michael Rosen and leave Katie with Garcia to look through some images. "Morgan keeps telling me that spouting facts and giving lectures is how to put girls off and it isn't conducive to getting them to like me." Her mittened hand took his and he thought how awkward it was to hold someone's hand when you were both gloved.

"Morgan's wrong," Katie said. "You shouldn't have to change who you are in order to get someone to genuinely like you. Fair enough, if you're just after a one night stand then you need to fit the mould – but for anything more than that you need to be more than just a body with a witty chat up line."

"So why did you like me? You even told my boss that you did – that took some courage?" he looked at her, puzzled.

She laughed again, and he wondered if he'd ever tire of hearing that sound. "You were cute and a challenge. And you're different. I like that." She smiled at him as they reached the station. "I'll see you later, Spencer Reid."

He smiled back, feeling more confident than he had ever done with a girl before. "Definitely."

"I'm okay. He just tore out my earring," Hotch heard Emily say from across the room. "Honestly, Penelope. It will heal." She had automatically been surrounded by the other women, Dave and Morgan looking on in consternation. He stood, as usual, on the periphery; emotionally detangled.

Maybe not quite.

"Prentiss, you need to have that seen by a nurse," he said, stepping forward and noticing that JJ and Garcia parted to let him through.

She shook her head. "The earlobe isn't ripped, it's just slightly torn." She moved the tissue away so he could see. Rosen had pulled the earring out, ripping the piercing, but not enough so that it wouldn't heal, given some antiseptic cream. Her earlobe was swollen and red, but the bleeding had stopped. "I could do with some ice on it though," she looked across at Garcia. "And a coffee?" she added in a small voice.

"For you, my dark-haired princess, anything," Garcia said, making her way out of the room.

Hotch gave Emily another concerned look. "Are you sure you are okay? It's never pleasant having someone come at you like that."

"I'm fine," she said, her words just for him. Rossi and Morgan were now filling Reid in on what had happened, and JJ was hovering in the background, looking unusually interested in an envelope. He realised that they had been looking at each other a little too long and averted his eyes, Detective Winters coming through the door.

"We're keeping Rosen in the cells," she said, sitting down on the table that was nearest the door. "I've phoned the rangers and asked them to make a note of the whereabouts of any form of building in the wooded areas nearest the college on the paths up to Heaney. There's only Jake Rogers there at the moment, but he says that by tomorrow he'll have banged heads with several others and they'll have a list to give to us." She closed her eyes, looking weary. In the few days they had known her she'd aged what seemed like several years.

"There's nothing more we can do at present," Hotch said. "We can use the profile to try and identify the female UnSub, or at the very least, to narrow down the list of potentials we have. Have you seen a recent weather forecast?"

She nodded. "Two more days and then a thaw. It means the day after tomorrow we can get a copter out over the area and see if we can locate the hideout. Do you believe what Rosen told you?"

"It's hard to say," Hotch said. "He's suffering from a borderline personality disorder. I think he probably knows more, but we're not going to get it from him. What is interesting is what he has to say about Theodore Wells and his involvement."

"You think it's both of them abducting these girls?" Winters' raised her voice.

Hotch shook his head. "No. It's the work of one person. But I think Wells may enjoy being told the details, or at least some of them. And I imagine that the hideout Baker is using at this moment in time belongs to Wells. He's being helped out by him."

"Can your analyst not find out any more details?"

Hotch nodded. "She's on the case. But quite often, extra properties are well hidden. It may be under another relative's name."

"What do we do next?" Winters said.

"Nothing." Hotch looked at her sternly. "You need to rest and now is as good a time as any. In two days we'll need everyone on full power."

"I could do with some sleep," she said, stifling an appropriately timed yawn. "I believe there's an issue with the heating at the motel. I have an extra room – a family one with a cot already there. It's my daughter's when she comes to stay with her baby."

Hotch gave her a brief smile of thanks. "I'll send JJ and Will over to you. Thank you."

She nodded. "It's no trouble. Jolene has two double rooms from when she used to do lodgings. If your boys and girls don't mind doubling up, there'll be room for them." She stood up, somewhat wearily and backed out of the room with a fatigued wave.

"You serious?" Morgan looked over at Hotch. "I'm sharing a room with Reid? You got to be kidding me."

"It's either that or freeze," Hotch said. He looked at him curiously. "Morgan, you're from Chicago and yet you're finding the cold here unbearable. Why is that?"

Morgan shrugged and then coughed, sounding chesty. "I guess it's just 'cause I'm feeling a little under the weather. And it just seems colder round here."

Hotch nodded. "Get an early night," he said. "You've the rest of the afternoon to catch up on whatever you need to do and relax. We'll make more headway tomorrow on narrowing down the pool of suspects for the abducted men case."

He saw his team give nods of agreement, and he was thankful for their tiredness. He knew from experience that dogged determination on a case was not a good thing, and that to start in the morning with fresh minds and ideas would be better than attempting to plough on right now.

"Hotch," he heard Emily call him and immediately gave her his attention. "Where are you going to stay tonight?"

"I'll stay at the motel," he said. "If you don't mind, I'll borrow your duvet, and I should be fine. I have slept in worse conditions." Suddenly, the thought of having the scent of her nestled round him for the night was the most comforting thing in the world. He tried to shake it off, but it wouldn't leave, and he started look forward to the time he usually dreaded, the moment when he was most alone.

"It will be freezing," she looked at him, something in her eyes he wasn't sure of. "I'd offer to swap, but I'm not sure that sharing with Garcia would be the better option."

He smiled, appreciating the thought as he knew it was genuine. "I'll be fine, Emily." His eyes went to her ear and the red mark on the side that he hadn't noticed before. He forced his hand to stay by his side and not brush the soon-to-be-bruised skin.

"It doesn't hurt," she said. "You bruise like I do, you get used to it fast. And I've had worse than this." He knew she had, her remembered hearing her being hit, her telling them that she could take it, and a wave of rage fevered up inside him.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, taking in the pale skin, red lips and hair as dark as his own. He knew he was keeping the company of fools by thinking like this, by allowing himself to notice her in this way, but tomorrow seemed such a long time away.

Emily watched Hotch as he exited the room, analysing the last look he had given her. It was like looking at him through a fish tank, she summarised: misshapen stares and no touching. She exhaled noisily and felt a whirlwind behind her, a whirlwind that smelled of sweet perfume and freshly made hot chocolate.

"Garcia," she said, a warning note in her voice.

"Coffee's off," the perfumed chocolatier informed her. "It's gin o'clock and we need to talk."

Emily turned around to face her, and found JJ standing there too. She groaned and rolled her eyes. "How do I know this isn't going to be pleasant?" The day had just begun.

* * *

_Drop me a line, let me know what you think! Also, something that makes me curious is the reason for people's pennames. Mine is sarra – because it's like my own, and was the name of a character from the first fandom I wrote for; and maks, which is a shortening of my surname, Makin._

_Please review, and have good weekends!!_

_Sarah x_


	20. Chapter 20

_Thank you to __**Lily Moonlight **__and __**Chiroho **__for the read throughs. Also thank you to the reviewers – you may spot things that have been mentioned in your reviews. Sometimes comments made about chapters stimulate certain thoughts, as you readers look at the story and the relationships from a different point of view than me when I'm writing. I also miss things, which sounds mad, I know, but I don't always feel very conscious when I write... (Yep, the asylum is calling!) I'm not referring to typos here – they happen!!_

_Apologies for the lack of a prompt update, but the site has been down!_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Just walk beside me and be my friend.'  
- Albert Camus

Chapter 20

There was no point protesting. Submission was definitely the answer.

Emily sat – had been seated – at one side of the table, with Garcia and JJ facing her. Rather like an interview panel. She groaned at the prospect of the grilling, knowing that her honesty would prevent her from wheedling out of the more pressing questions. Her fingers traced the soon-to-be bruise on the side of her face from where she had hit the ground when Baker had attacked her. It was a subconscious gesture, but one that drew Garcia's attention.

"Are you sure that you're not more hurt than you're telling us?" Garcia said. "Because the inquisition can resume after you've applied cream."

Emily looked up at her and glared, her fingers now going to the cold glass of gin and tonic that she had been handed as soon as she had entered Jolene's. They'd been taken to a small room behind the bar that contained the same rustic charm as the rest of the place. A wood fire was burning happily, defrosting the ice that had grown on them during the short walk from the station and Emily wondered if Jolene would mind if she just slept here for the night in one of the chairs. "It looks worse than it is. Hotch gave me some bio-oil to help with bruising so I'll put some of that on later." She had immediately made a mistake, she knew. Mentioning Hotch's name had resulted in a telling glance being exchanged by the two agony aunts in front of her. She groaned again. "What have I done to deserve this?" she said, twisting the glass round and chinking the ice. "JJ – you promised not to say anything!"

"I didn't have to," JJ said, rather loudly. "Garcia asked me what was going on between you and Hotch, and I said that we'd just have to ask you. Hence this!"

Emily eyed her, taking the first sip of her drink. "Nothing is going on between Hotch and I. Ab-sol-ute-ly nothing."

"Is that the problem?" Garcia said, leaning forward. "That there's _nothing_ going on? Honey-chucks, in my opinion, which you may or may not wish to hear, but are doing so anyway, you two need to be locked in a remote cabin somewhere for a few days to settle your issues in the best way possible. And that would include having no files to go though."

Emily rested back in the chair and closed her eyes. She had two choices: to say very little and listen to _a lot_ of speculation or to talk. She wasn't used to having girlfriends to discuss things with. Terminating a pregnancy at the age of 15 wasn't the kind of thing that encouraged other girls to befriend you, and after, being the open type of person that she was – especially at that time – it became harder to develop friendships with other girls. She had wanted to talk about it. They hadn't. And now, in the FBI, which was very much a man's world as much as she hated to admit it, she had female friends. Ones who, as much as they enjoyed the gossip, genuinely cared.

"What makes you think something should be going on? I'm not going to try to be evasive here, but I need to ask some questions too," she said, deciding that the latter option was going to be the most favourable.

JJ and Garcia passed another look, one that questioned how Emily could possibly not already know the answer to that already. JJ made the funny hand gesture that she did when she was frustrated, or thought that someone was being particularly stupid and Garcia seemed to take that as an opportunity to hold court.

"Emily," she began, sitting up in her chair and folding her arms. "Our honoured unit chief is reacting to you in ways that have rarely been seen, although they are only visible to the trained and experienced eye. Would you like me to list all the rather unHotch-like things he hath done since I arrived? Or, given that you have more than half a brain in that pretty little head, are you aware of them already?"

Emily took a long drink. It tasted good. Reid had once treated them to a lecture on how to get the perfect ratio of spirit to mixer and since then she had found she had enjoyed gin and rum much more than beer. "I am aware he has been rather weird."

"And, my precious, would you care to elucidate on his weirdness during the times when you have been alone with him, then JJ and myself can best advise you on your next steps?" Garcia said. Her eyes were flashing dangerously and Emily began to feel rather like a cornered squirrel.

"JJ," she said, looking at the blonde who was now feigning innocence, twisting her hair into a knot at the base of her neck. "What have you been feeding Penelope?"

JJ laughed. "In all seriousness, Em, we spoke a couple of days ago about it. But what's happened since then? You took off for dinner together last night and nobody saw either of you after? How was dessert?"

Emily groaned and looked at her glass. "I need a refill." Garcia produced a bottle of gin from under the table and began to pour, topping it up with tonic. "And there was no dessert, neither edible nor the kind you are referring to. Is it _that_ obvious?"

They both shook their heads. "Morgan and Reid are completely oblivious. Reid hasn't noticed and I don't think it has occurred to Morgan to notice," JJ said. "He just thinks Hotch's food choosing is down to you sharing the same palette. You needn't worry about anything getting back to Strauss – not that it would even if Hotch pounced on you and ravished you over the table."

The thought – and the vision – or her supervisor doing anything so unlikely made Emily chuckle. "I don't think that will happen even in an alternate universe," she said. Then she sighed. "I don't know what's going on in his mind. I don't think he knows himself."

"This is the Hotchmeister we're talking about," Garcia said. "Of course he knows. He's just not decided what to do about it yet. What happened at dinner yesterday? Start there."

Emily gave them a brief run down, including minor details she might otherwise have omitted, such as the hand on her lower back, the awkward silence and the tennis game with names. She had never hated her surname as much as she had then.

"So," JJ said, finishing her first glass and chinking the ice as a hint for Garcia to top it up. "You need to discuss what this thing is that is between you."

"Yes," said Emily, sarcasm oozing from the word. "And I can just see how that will go. 'So Emily, do you have feelings for me?' 'Yes, sir, I'm wondering if you are as controlled in the bedroom as you are in your work.' 'Well, Prentiss, I'm afraid you'll never find out, because this big fat cloud of unresolved sexual tension is going to stay that way because I am your boss and the rules say Strauss will eat us alive should I as much as see the inside of your bedroom.' That will definitely be one to remember and use in a future romance novel."

"Your other option, Princess, is to jump his bones," Garcia said, adding more gin to each of their glasses, not just JJ's. "And unless Hotch is drunk -" she shrugged dramatically.

"That would be another priceless situation, entitled how to get transferred to another unit faster than you can fill in the forms," Emily said, realising that half of her second glass had already been consumed. It was only five thirty. If she carried on at this rate there was a good chance Garcia's scenario could happen.

"What vibes are you getting from him?" JJ said. "Profile him."

"The the other day Hotch came to my room to check I was okay after seeing Baker outside and to have words about splitting from Morgan," she inhaled deeply, looking at JJ and Garcia's expressions.

"He came to your room?" JJ said, frowning. "If it had been me he would have asked to have a word and taken me outside or something. He wouldn't have gone into my bedroom to do that."

Emily shrugged. "He checked my ankle again. But it was..."

"Unnecessary?" JJ said.

"Sweet," Garcia said, correcting. "Hey, you think Hotch has an ankle fetish?"

Emily smirked at the idea and shook her head. "It was weird – in a good way. And tonight he's asked if he can borrow my duvet..." Her mind began to analyse.

"Maybe you should go back over later and keep him company," JJ said. "Warm him up."

"Hotch is the master of repression," Garcia said, banging her glass down on the table as if she had just discovered the meaning of life. "He did come alive some with Haley, but, my sweet, he's been burned rather badly. Think about it, it's pop psych one-oh-one. You finally allow yourself to express some modicum of emotion only to have it trampled on a few years later, then you are going to be petrified of opening yourself up to anyone else."

JJ nodded. "Have you considered that, Em? That it's not your positions in the unit that's stopping him from saying something, but fear of getting hurt?"

Emily thought for a moment, focusing on the liquid in her glass and the melting ice. "No. I hadn't. It makes sense though. But what would he have to fear from me? He knows I'm attracted to him..."

"Now consider that more carefully," Garcia said. "He's male, which makes him deficient in certain areas such as understanding women, and yes, I know he's a profiler, but that doesn't make him much more superior than the average male at understanding non-serial killing females. Think Rossi here – fantastic, legendary profiler with three failed marriages. The profiling gene does not make you a master with the opposite sex. Hotch might think you're attracted to him, but he doesn't know how deep that attraction goes. If he made a move and you were into it, but not as in to it as he was, it eventually makes for a messy moment outside of the bedroom. He gets hurt and turns further into Albert the Snail with his very big shell."

"But he knows me, Pen. He knows I don't do casual. We spoke about that on the first night we were here, when we were discussing – oh God," she groaned. "Maybe it's just a superficial thing for him and he can see that it wouldn't be for me."

"So why would he be making gestures in public that show his concern for you?" JJ said. "Looking after you when you hurt your ankle, picking up flu meds, checking up on you in your room, you and him sneaking off for dinner. Is there anything else I've missed?"

"This is so exciting," Garcia began to squee. "Hot FBI boss and his..."

"And stop right there, Penelope, because as of yet, nothing of any substance has happened, and nothing is going to," Emily said, holding up her palm. "I think I prefer life when it's less complicated." She picked up the bottle of gin and poured herself a measure.

"It's chemistry," JJ said, rather abruptly. "You have chemistry. You're similar in many respects, you have the same principals and outlook on life. I don't think you can fight it, Em, I think you have to do something else neither of you will move on."

"Maybe I'm quite happy _not_ moving on," Emily said, circling the glass to mix the tonic in with the alcohol. "Maybe having fantasies about your boss is better than dating the countless idiots who think they're something special."

"But, your fantasy could be turned into a field of fresh flowers and sunny days forever if you dare to go there," Garcia said. "This gin is good. Apparently, it's Jolene's own recipe. She makes it herself."

JJ raised her eyebrows. "Maybe she could teach Dave how to make it then. It'd be better than the homebrew he tries to make Will consume." She shuddered.

"Hotch may not have moved on from Haley," Emily said, going through the list of excuses why making any form of even tiny subtle move was out of the question.

"He's moved on," Garcia said with certainty. "Trust me, I know."

Emily and JJ looked at her with wide eyes, questioning looks launched at Garcia.

Garcia sighed. "After New York, sometime after, I saw him with a woman in a bar and they looked cosy. I did a little research and she was a lawyer, recently divorced, attractive, _dark-haired. _Kev and I did little a stalking to brighten up our evenings and it lasted a couple of weeks and then she moved back to L.A. and it all finished." She shrugged. "That was Hotch's rebound."

"And you didn't tell us sooner?" JJ said, looking slightly disappointed.

Garcia shook her head. "What good would it have done? Besides, I do have some respect for privacy, sometimes."

Emily stretched her legs under the table, accidently nudging Garcia's foot. "So, what do I do?"

"Profile him," JJ said. "Step aside from your emotional involvement and pretend you were working out Hotch's mindset for a friend. What do you see? Start with the physical contact."

"He feels comfortable around me and confident enough that I won't react adversely to it, which suggests he knows something about how I feel," Emily said, looking from Garcia to JJ and back.

"I may not be a profiler, just the mere Goddess of the information super highway, but I'd also say he enjoys touching you on a baser level," Garcia said. "He's a guy. Let's not forget that."

Emily felt her cheeks warming slightly. "Okay. Moving on. He told me I'm not a nerd and he's been more considerate than he needed to, which would insinuate that he does care..."

"He told you you weren't a _nerd_? How did that come up in conversation?" JJ said, interrupting.

"After dinner when he said goodnight," she shook her head. "He was being reassuring!"

JJ gave her a disbelieving look. "He was telling you how he felt."

"Oh no. He was just being nice, JJ."

"You know, that river called Denial is lovely to swim in, Emily, but sometimes you just got to get out of the water and inhale the coffee," JJ said, shaking her head. "Now tell us why he always chooses to sit next to you on the plane, and partners himself with you on cases - most of the time!"

"Okay. Your point is made and understood. But I can't see a way forward. I mean, I've asked guys out on dates before – I have no issue with doing that as I'm hardly a wall flower – but I can hardly see myself going up to Hotch and saying 'Hey, I know this great little restaurant right near my apartment. How about it?'" Her shoulders dropped in resignation.

"You might not need to do anything," JJ said. "If you carry on as you are, something is bound to be said at some point. Just continue to have your moments alone with him."

"Or," Garcia said. Emily knew her look. It meant that something almost outlandish was on its way. "Arrange to be stranded somewhere together, or, alternatively, as I mentioned before, ply him with alcohol."

Emily laughed. "That second will never happen."

"I can arrange the first," Garcia said, her eyes twinkling as much as the pink clip in her hair. "You leave that to me, Princess."

Emily looked worried knowing Garcia and her threats well, and then heard Morgan calling them from the bar. "And that, my friends, is the end of our conversation." She stood up, picking up the empty glass and made her way into the bar where Morgan was now sitting, nursing a beer and a story full of information about Reid and the pretty blonde officer called Katie.

* * *

At half past midnight Emily woke with the cold. Garcia had gone back to the station, having had a brainwave somewhere during dinner about accessing a different database to get information on the female UnSub and she hadn't been seen since. Morgan had called before they had retired to bed to check she was okay, and had been met with an abrupt _I'm fine, leave the goddess to work_, a sign that she really was engrossed in her detectivity.

Wide awake, Emily looked round the bedroom, trying to take her mind off the first person who had popped into it. It was clean and plainly decorated. The old wooden beams looked slightly in need of being treated and she could imagine what Rossi's holiday job would be, should he and Jolene last longer than his previous dalliance. She'd left the curtains open, wanting to see the clouded moon and the tip of Harney Peak, still blacker than every other mountain top, especially against the grey sky. It was snowing again; large white flakes dancing hypnotically down from the heavens and for a few seconds she was mesmerised by them. Then she shivered and clambered out of the high bed, pulling on sweatpants and a t-shirt over her nightdress and wrapping herself in the thick duvet like coat she had acquired from Jolene. Her gun was attached around her waist and she placed her hand on it briefly, enjoying the security it brought her.

Slipping her feet into sneakers, she crept downstairs, hearing Rossi's snoring echoing across the landing. Jolene had given them free use of her house kitchen, the kitchen for the restaurant staying off limits, and Emily made her way over to the kettle. She needed something warm and wet and soothing.

She felt lonely, a feeling she was accustomed to, but tonight it was coarser than usual, more of a cold fog inside her. The conversation she'd had with JJ and Garcia had been in some ways uplifting, but it had also made her further aware of what she didn't have. This unresolved thing between herself and Hotch could stay just as that: unresolved, and she'd be on her own still, only this time the possibility of having someone would have been waved in her face. It wasn't just him who had feelings to protect, it was her too, and even though she did wear her heart on her sleeve, she still didn't want it breaking.

Flasks were kept in a cupboard under the sink and Jolene had said it was fine to borrow them. Emily pulled one out and unscrewed the lid, adding instant coffee and a drop of the whisky that was on a nearby shelf. She topped it up with boiling water and added enough milk to turn it from black to brown and screwed the lid back on securely.

Bracing herself, she pushed open the door to the outside and pushed down the catch. She was pretty sure that there would be no opportunistic thieves waiting for her to leave, so leaving it unlocked didn't seem to pose any risks, and she began the walk across the square, feeling the cold flakes of snow fall on her skin.

The station lights were still on; there would be officers there, on duty, as well as Garcia, who would be immersed in her online world for a few more hours yet. Emily continued to trudge through the thick, virgin snow to a darker building, one that had pretty much been evacuated. Her ankle twinged slightly, although it was nowhere near as painful as it had been, and she pushed any remaining niggles out of her mind.

Sliding doors opened automatically and she made her way down the corridor, the temperature no warmer than it had been outside. Stopping outside her destination, she knocked quietly on the door, aware that Hotch might be asleep, but she knew that it was unlikely.

No answer came and she bent down to leave the flask of coffee outside. She was just about to turn back down the corridor when the click of a lock sounded and she heard her name.

"Emily?"

"Hotch," she turned back round. "I thought you might want a hot drink." Suddenly she felt a fool, cursing her impulsivity and knowing that she must look like some stupid lovesick teenager, bringing him hot drinks during the night.

He picked up the flask and opened the lid, sniffing the contents. "Coffee – with a finger of whisky." She saw him smile, a wide genuine expression, and she noticed he was still dressed.

"You weren't asleep then?" she said. "I didn't wake you?"

He shook his head. "No. I was reading through some things Garcia has just sent. Is everything okay over at Jolene's?"

Emily nodded. "Fine – everything's fine. I woke up and..." How do you explain to your boss that you woke up thinking of him? "And felt really cold, so I thought you must be freezing." She glanced down at the floor, wanting it to open and eat her, spitting out her bones in the middle of the Sahara where they would never be found.

"You want a cup?" he said, gesturing to the flask.

She shook her head. "No – I'll leave you to it." She took a step backwards, creating more distance between them. Then she saw he looked almost disappointed, a rare flash of emotion in his eyes, and she didn't feel quite so stupid anymore. He'd missed having dinner with them. They didn't know why but he hadn't been there. She doubted that he'd had any down time, unless he'd spoken to Jack. "Just half a cup," she said. "Coffee keeps me awake."

"Whisky in a warm drink is a soporific," he said. "This should help you get to get back to sleep. Why don't you come in?" He gestured into his room and she closed the distance between them, entering. The room smelt of him, although she caught the scent of her own perfume and moisturisers from the second duvet that was on the bed.

Emily sat down on the bed while he took two cups from the side, filling then with the steaming liquid. He passed one to her, sitting on the chair at the desk. She was aware of the space between them; only a few feet but it felt like more, much more and for the first time she had the overwhelming urge to slip into his bed along with him, closing the gap and the distance with shared touches and words that would never be found through their work.

"I feel an idiot," she said quietly, after the silence became too deafening and the whisky had relaxed her more than she thought it would. "Coming over here like this."

He looked down at the papers on his desk, one hand wrapped around the cup, taking its warmth. "I would have done the same for you," he said without looking up.

"You would never have let any of us stay somewhere as cold as this while you had a warm room," she said, cursing her honesty.

He didn't reply, and she felt more of a fool than ever before. Maybe Garcia and JJ were wrong and the gin had given them false clarity. Maybe Hotch wasn't interested at all.

He closed the file he was looking at and stared out of the window before turning to look at her. "I wish..." he began, then shook his head, looking at the ground.

"You wish what?" she pushed, unzipping the coat a little, the whisky having warmed her, along with the heat in the room that had nothing to do with temperature.

He looked back at his desk and stood up. "I wish this snow would stop."

"That's not what you were going to say." The words were out before she had thought about them and she wished she could pull them back in.

He looked back at her. "No. It wasn't," he paused. "We should both get some sleep."

She stood up and nodded, hope revived.

He walked behind her to the doorway, pausing as she unlocked it and stepped over the threshold. Then she felt his fingers on her arm, a soft touch lingering, and she returned the gesture.

"We're good at these doorway moments, aren't we?" she said, little more than a whisper so as not to wake the night.

Hotch nodded. "Thank you for the coffee," he said. Then there was a silence, an unmoving, where they both remained, dragging out a few more seconds into what seemed like an eternity.

Emily let go first, fighting back urges she dearly wanted to submit to. "I'll see you in the morning."

He smiled, his eyes containing a loneliness she hadn't noticed before. "Goodnight, Emily."

She heard his door close when she turned down the corridor and was out of his sight. He had watched her leave until he could see her no longer and she knew that meant something.

* * *

Hotch closed the door when he could no longer see her. He switched clothes as quick as he could, the cold abrasive against his skin. Once in sweat pants and an old FBI hoodie he slipped into bed, pulling the two duvets over him, his breath creating clouds through the freezing air. Emily's duvet was closer to him and he knew that it was deliberate. He could smell her perfume and the body products she used, the scent wakening him and each of his senses.

He turned over, burying his head into the pillow and closed his eyes, trying to block out her midnight visit, trying not to think about the reasons why she had come over so late. Then he fought remembering the temptation he'd felt to not kiss her at the doorway, to make her turn back into his room and take her to bed.

Hotch wondered exactly how cold the shower would be right now.

_It wasn't going to go away. _If he knew she didn't reciprocate anything, then it would be easier to let go, to not imagine having that black hair spread across his pillow, her underneath him, his hands... he pushed back the duvets. This was not conducive to sleep.

And then he thought about mornings. About waking up with her, and the motel room suddenly felt colder still, its silence freezing.

She wouldn't be here in the morning. Just remnants of her perfume and the coffee that she had made and he regretted not telling her what he wished.

* * *

"You need to try and stay awake," Sophie said, shaking Carla's shoulder. "Don't go to sleep. Not yet."

She heard Carla murmur something, but she couldn't make out what.

She'd been left there in a hurry, the man who had taken her throwing her down the steps into the cellar when she was semi conscious and then scuttling off elsewhere. Once she had come round, she had managed to find a light and then had seen Carla, half killed by the cold.

"They know I'm missing," Sophie said to her. "They will find us. I promise." She pulled the other girl closer to her, trying to share body heat. There had been a couple of blankets in one of the cupboards and a kettle with some water still in it. She'd done what she could so far, she just had to keep the other girl alive, to stop him from taking another life.

"I'm cold," she heard Carla say. She'd recognised the girl from the news, although the prettiness that had been obvious on the photos had been eradicated by the cold and torment she had suffered.

"Try and huddle up to me," Sophie said, pulling Carla closer to her.

"But I'm tied down," Carla whimpered.

Sophie shook her head. "No, no you're not. I managed to get the rope off you." It had cost her her nails and blistered fingers, but she had done it, and it was one battle against Him that had been won.

Carla moved properly for the first time since Sophie had been there, wincing with the pain. "My legs..." she said, tears falling from her eyes.

Sophie pushed the blankets around her and stood up. "I'll have a look around for something to help," she said. "There must be something."

It was her mission now, to keep them both alive, to make sure that they survived and got out of there, back home and back to their families.

Sophie knew she would do it. She was a survivor.

* * *

_Thank you for reading, now press that little button and review!!! If you do review, let me know which country you're in. The stats show how many readers you have from each place, but it's interesting to know who is from where!_

_Sarah x_


	21. Chapter 21

_Thank you once again to __**Lily Moonlight **__for the betaing, and to the reviewers of chapter 20. So mant reviews!! If you keep reviewing at that rate, I'll be so addicted I'll have to do a sequel!_

_This is a bit of an experimental chapter – let me know what you think, and I do hope you enjoy._

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'How can you prove whether at this moment we are sleeping, and all our thoughts are a dream; or whether we are awake, and talking to one another in the waking state?'  
- Plato

Chapter 21

Morgan tapped his fingers against the table and Reid glared at him to stop the noise. Rossi saw the look and wondered how bad the cabin fever would get before the children got the chance to play outside again and sent a silent prayer up to the heavens for a warm, melting wind.

It had been a long afternoon, preceded by a long morning, preceded by a night where he had found solace in the arms of a good woman, who could cook _and_ make him laugh, two qualities that none of his previous wives had possessed. He smiled at the memories they had created: two free and single people enjoying each other's company and conversation without any obligations or expectations. The night had been somewhat marred by hearing Morgan and Reid argue about the Chicago Bears and some stats from six seasons ago through the wall after both had ingested too much caffeine. He was considering petitioning Hotch to place a ban on coffee after nine at night.

Rossi looked across at Morgan, who was now back to being buried in the information on his laptop, lists and details of women who potentially could fit the profile of the female UnSub. That was this afternoon's task: to whittle down the eighteen possibilities.

His computer screen had switch to the screen saver, hiding the photos and information behind. He sat back in his chair and watched the pixels make pretty patterns and thought about the team that were seducing men and taking them captive.

He couldn't think about Sophie.

He disposed of the colours on the screen and began to look at less savoury images. Elise Revington. He looked at her picture. She was pretty and blonde, but the scowl on her face marred her attractiveness and she was trained as a beautician. In the last five months she had been hospitalised twelve times with injuries consistent with spousal abuse. She was living with her boyfriend who was a known user and had a two year old girl. He jotted down her name on his note pad and made a couple of notes explaining why she was an unlikely suspect.

The next girl was much the same: in and out of care for all of her teenage years and now renting a small property on the outskirts of the county. Two children, the first born when she was just seventeen. He knew that the UnSub would not have children. No way. She would not expose children to the violence that they were putting these men through if children were present. She would also be unable to take responsibility for any children, and if she had become pregnant at any time, would have had an abortion.

Rossi sat back again, glancing round at his colleagues. Reid had retreated into his land of stats and facts; Morgan had gone in search of coffee; JJ was on the phone to the police chief over in another state about their next possible case and Hotch and Emily were sat in a corner engaged in a heated discussion that had something to do with the location of the missing men. He would have liked to analyse their behaviour, and then said something to perturb them, but he had work to do.

Next on his list was a twenty three year old woman named Ellen Reeves. She was from North Dakota and had been in care from the age of six after her mother had committed suicide and no relative had been able to look after her. She'd had a rap sheet as long as his wrist as a juvenile, but as an adult there hadn't been a single incident.

The only aspect connecting her with Calverville Point, that Garcia had somehow managed to dig out of the ether, was that she had been seen by a doctor in the area four years ago and treated for a skin complaint.

He squinted at the picture. She looked familiar, and he wrote her name down as being a possible. He'd have Garcia see if she could find any other information on her, and debated showing Katie Walsh the picture. If she was like the girl Katie had seen then it would make her an even stronger lead.

An email from his publisher flashed up on screen and he clicked on the cancel button. The new book was proving to be a trial to write, and he was debating delaying his publisher and including the two present cases, once they had been solved. They would make for interesting reading, he was sure.

"You want a coffee, Dave?" Morgan said, peering round the doorway.

Rossi nodded. "In fact, I'll come and help you make it."

He had just stood up when Garcia entered, her hair sliding down from its clip with the force at which she was walking.

"Guys!" she said, her voice full of urgency. Everyone looked up, silence falling around them.

* * *

Morgan tapped his fingers against the table and Reid glared at him to stop the noise. JJ turned around and caught Morgan's eye, raising an eyebrow. Luckily he took more notice of hints from her than he did from Reid and he stopped just as the person she was trying to contact answered their phone.

"Detective Richards," she said. "I'm Agent Jareau from the Behavioural Analysis Unit at the FBI. I've just picked up the messages you've left for me." There had been eleven messages in total, left over the space of thirteen hours.

"Agent Jareau. I'm glad you've been able to contact me."

JJ could tell that the detective was being polite and really wanted to know why she hadn't been on the phone after the first message. "I'm sorry it's taken so long. We're in South Dakota at present on another case and I've been unable to access my voicemail." This was true. It hadn't been until Garcia had waved her magic wand around twenty minutes ago that JJ had managed to check her messages. There had been forty-eight in total, which was less than she'd been expecting, although that wasn't counting Detective Richards' eleven.

"Have you been able to look at the details I've sent? We could really use your team's help."

JJ swallowed a sigh. She'd been checking emails regularly since they had arrived in Calverville Point, and each working hour had brought another plea for help. She'd briefly looked at the case from Utah and flagged it as once to come back to as soon as it looked like they were on their way out of Calverville. "At the moment we're in the middle of another investigation, so we don't know where we are heading to yet. It may be that you find your perpetrator before we can get to you, and hopefully that will be the case. I will contact you in due course and find out how it's going." She waited for the expected barrage of frustration that would be spewed in to the receiver and down the line into JJ's ear.

Instead she got a sigh.

"At the moment I have no way in which to direct my officers to look for this guy. He's a serial rapist and he has the female population terrified. He hit three times in the last week and the media are going crazy. How long will it be, Agent Jareau, until he kills someone?" His words were slow and deliberate, exhaustion resonating in every syllable.

This was the bit of the job she hated. "Without knowing the full details we can't advise you. I will pass what you have sent onto Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner, who may be able to send you some suggestions, but I can't promise anything as at the present..."

"I understand. Just please let me know as soon as you can help." The dial tone buzzed into her head and she put her cell back in her pocket, sitting down on her chair at her makeshift desk. She reopened the email that had been sent regarding the case and scanned through it. It was one she would prioritize, certainly, she only hoped they could tidy up everything where they were now before things in Utah became worse.

Her cell vibrated in her pocket and she took a look at it, seeing a message from Will. He and Henry had taken a walk out to the chocolate shop that Garcia had been gazing at fondly whenever in sight of it. Apparently she had a present from her son waiting for her back at Jolene's. She smiled, thankful for the light that had just been sent to her. Something to pull her through the rest of the afternoon.

Closing her email, she began to look at the files Garcia had sent on possibly female suspects. Already six had been looked at by Morgan, Rossi and Hotch, and judging by the discussion that was taking place in the corner, the one logged by Hotch had also been viewed by Emily. She raised her eyebrows at Em as she caught her eye and was thoroughly ignored. JJ gave an inward smile, her eyes returning to the screen.

Theresa Cooper looked unlikely. She was employed in a cafe in the town, but was also registered to work in a home for elderly people, where she also resided as live-in night help. JJ glanced through the rest of the information, including details of Theresa's finances. There was one coincidence which made JJ flag up her name: whenever one of the men had gone missing, Theresa had bought gas.

JJ huddled down into her chair and was just about to open the next file when Garcia entered, her hair sliding down from its clip with the force at which she was walking.

"Guys!" she said, her voice full of urgency. Everyone looked up, silence falling around them.

* * *

Morgan tapped his fingers against the table and Reid glared at him to stop the noise. Hotch ignored them, leaving them to squabble between themselves. He was itching to get outside and to start searching the area near the college, breaking out of the four walls and feeling fresh air, however cold, on his skin. He looked at the window where the condensation had caused patterns created by fingers to emerge.

"If Reid notices you staring he'll start to recite facts about it," Emily said without looking up from her laptop.

"He's too wrapped up in his reading," Hotch said. "What are you thinking?" He needed conversation right now. The day had already been long, time spent ploughing through victimology, _again; _a geographical profile, _again_ and debates about what was actually happening to the men after they had been abducted. It was all speculation, of course. Educated speculation, but nothing solid.

Emily sighed. "I've been in care all my life. I've been abused in some way by most adults in authority that I've come into contact with. Why do I trust you?"

He turned round to face her, interested in where this line of thought was leading. "I've done something to make you trust me."

She nodded, her dark hair falling over both shoulders. She pushed it away from her face and he wondered if it felt as shiny as it looked. "Okay. So I've gained your trust. How has that happened? I'm bitter about authority figures as they've usually hurt me in some way, so you must have done me a favour." She edged her chair closer to him, blocking their conversation from the rest of the team. He smelt her perfume and it reminded him of bed and her scent on the sheets he had slept under last night. When they got home, if they ever got home, he was going to have to do something about _this_, this thing between them. Maybe if they acted on it, addressed it, and gave it a box to remain in, they could begin to control it.

"If I've done you a favour I have a certain amount of power. Maybe I didn't report you to the police, or I gave you a break with a job," he said.

"And why would you do that?" she said, eyes ablaze with thoughts. It was when she was like this he most regretted his attitude when she'd first joined. Intelligence combined with insight. In some respects she was on the same level as Reid, but she was tougher. He didn't need to protect her – he just wanted to.

"Because I see the fire in you that reminds me of myself. I was drawn to you from the first time we met," he swallowed. This was sounding uncomfortably close to home and now Emily's eyes were dancing and he was sure it wasn't because she was about to disclose the UnSubs names and their address. "You were someone I knew had been abused, so I knew you would be pliable and easy to dominate, and I also recognised a sadistic streak through a need to get revenge."

She nodded. "You knew my background. Maybe you were a teacher. Whatever you were or are, you need power and the opportunity to use it. We know you probably took care of your sick mother and that was a burden to you. You also have a history of violence, even if it has been almost legitimate or unrecorded." She licked her lips unconsciously, biting them together. "Hotch – this guys a professional. Teacher or..."

"Law enforcer." He finished her sentence. "He could know about this investigation already."

"I disagree. If he did he would have had her take someone else while we've been here as proof he's better than us. He wouldn't be able to resist showing off his power," she said, her words and tone challenging him.

"If he was aware been were on our way then he did that," Hotch said. "And since then the weather will have stopped any further abductions. He knows."

"And if he does, what will his next move be?" she said. "I suppose it depends on how intelligent he is. If he does nothing and we draw a blank, he could get away with it for years longer. If he shows off, then he could end up throwing us a line."

Emily caught his eye; she knew what this would mean. Another disappearance could help break the case. "We need to be open minded about his profession. A teacher would be aware of the FBI presence also, and could also engage trust by providing a false reference or forging grades. The school Jenni Appleby attended was told that Detective Winters was asking for our assistance – it's a possibility, Hotch ."

Hotch nodded. "We need to look at male officers and teachers without alerting anyone. I think we should keep Detective Winters out of this until we have a clearer idea."

He wondered what she was like to dance with.

The randomness of the thought surprised him and he wondered what had provoked it. Before he could analyse the thought some more, Garcia entered, her hair sliding down from its clip with the force at which she was walking.

"Guys!" she said, her voice full of urgency. Everyone looked up, silence falling around them.

* * *

Morgan tapped his fingers against the table and Reid glared at him to stop the noise. Morgan was doing it on purpose, Reid knew, and the rhythm was identifiable as being a taunt. _Ka – tie, Ka – tie, _it sang, Morgan's grin growing wider as Reid's exasperation grew. Then JJ, who was on the phone, sent over a glare and the tapping stopped.

"If you have a problem with me spending time with her, then just say," Reid said, his eyes back on his computer screen. "I can understand how you feel usurped."

He almost laughed out loud at Morgan's expression which he caught sight of out of the corner of his eye.

"Usurped? You have not usurped me, Reid!"

Reid smiled, and knew his expression was now causing Morgan further unrest. He focused back on what he was reading, deciding that he had won their sparring for the day, making up for the lost match last night when Morgan had waved his knowledge about the Chicago Bears around like a red flag.

Hunching toward the screen, he began to recount facts about female serial killers, seeing if any would add another piece of the jigsaw. Their female UnSub was a team killer, and therefore likely to be submissive. That ruled out two of the files Garcia had given them, as both had been expelled from schools for bullying. The psychologist Joel Norris had identified seven phases of serial killers; aura, trolling, wooing, capture, murder, totem and depression. It was one of the easier theories to understand, and one that Reid would often use to help him identify the characteristics of a killer.

Reid focused on the 'totem' phase. This was the stage after the kill, where the murderer was on a low and would use trophies or photographs to relive the experience. For this team, there was possibly no clear totem phase, or if there was, it was brief. They had profiled that the pair were torturing them and Reid believed that to be correct. If so, they possibly had one or two men alive at one time, so would be constantly living the captive and murder phases.

So when did they go through the depression phase? This was the point where the killer no longer took satisfaction from their previous murder. Reliving it became rather like a disappointing ending to a story or TV programme, and possibly became disassociated from the act. The aura phase would then set in again, and the cycle restart. However, even though they worked as a team, it did not mean that their cycles were in tandem.

"She's the one controlling when they take the men," Reid said to himself. "Her cycle is quicker, probably because she has an attention deficit disorder. He would prolong the torture, but she needs a new toy to play with." He rolled a pencil between his fingers, nimbly manoeuvring it with unconscious dexterity. "We can rule out women who completed high school."

Reid began to consider the remaining files, skim reading the details on education. Unfortunately, his criteria failed to eliminate more than three of the remaining potentials.

It was time to consider another perspective.

He glanced up from his computer and looked around the room. Sometimes ideas came to him by separating his mind from what he was considering and letting his subconscious do the work. Rossi was engrossed in reading, JJ looked frustrated and then smiled when she looked at a message on her cell. Probably Will. Morgan was examining his empty coffee cup and looking disappointed and Reid wondered not for the first time how Morgan was capable of drinking cold coffee. And Emily and Hotch were tucked into a corner, finishing each other's sentences again. They thought he hadn't noticed, but he had. Mainly because he'd heard Garcia and JJ gossiping about it once near his desk back at the BAU.

He returned to victimology and Hickey's review of the differences between male and female serial killers. Women were far more likely to kill relatives or people they knew. If the female UnSub here chose the victims, then they possibly represented men from the past that she had been abused by. The range in ages therefore suggested that she had had multiple abusers. They had already noted the fact that she had been in care, but what if there had been some record of abuse. He began to study the files again, knowing that although this could not eliminate anyone as more cases of sexual abuse were unreported than reported, it could highlight somebody.

He had just written down a name when Garcia entered, her hair sliding down from its clip with the force at which she was walking.

"Guys!" she said, her voice full of urgency. Everyone looked up, silence falling around them.

* * *

Morgan tapped his fingers against the table and Reid glared at him to stop the noise. Emily could tell by the way Hotch was bristling he wanted to leave the room and get some air; or, alternatively, send Morgan and Reid out on a long hike up a distant mountain. They were all feeling claustrophobic after a day spent entirely in each other's company within the same four walls. She glanced up and saw Hotch staring at the window, seemingly admiring the condensation.

"If Reid notices you staring he'll start to recite facts about it," she said looking back down at her laptop so he didn't know for how long she'd been noticing him.

"He's too wrapped up in his reading," Hotch said. "What are you thinking?" If she told him what she was thinking in between having thoughts about the cases, then he'd probably have her reassigned or sectioned for stalking. She was replaying the night before which was her way of escaping from the damply hot room, and imagining different ways for last night to end, other than her walking down the corridor with him watching.

She sighed, deciding that the best way to get out of this was to become someone else for a few minutes, and returned her thoughts to the case. "I've been in care all my life. I've been abused in some way by most adults in authority that I've come into contact with. Why do I trust you?"

He turned round to face her, his eyes keen. "I've done something to make you trust me."

She nodded, her hair falling annoyingly over both shoulders. She pushed it away from her face and wondered if it looked greasy, as she hadn't washed it that morning. "Okay. So I've gained your trust. How has that happened? I'm bitter about authority figures as they've usually hurt me in some way, so you must have done me a favour." She edged her chair closer to him, blocking their conversation from the rest of the team. Surprisingly, he didn't back away, or even sit back in his chair. He leant forward some, closing the gap further between them and she caught the scent that was inherently him, musky spices. Her pulse rate rose, doing nothing to quell the fantasies she was having to resort to.

"If I've done you a favour I have a certain amount of power. Maybe I didn't report you to the police, or I gave you a break with a job," he said.

"And why would you do that?" she said, starting to enjoy their role play. They had done this before. Any discomfort that she thought Hotch might feel after her midnight gift fell away. She liked this meeting of minds with someone who was at least as intelligent as she was, and could spar with words on the same level.

"Because I see the fire in you that reminds me of myself. I was drawn to you from the first time we met," he swallowed. Something bubbled inside her at the words and she wondered if he could see they had another meaning, a deeper one, one she wished was hidden. "You were someone I knew had been abused, so I knew you would be pliable and easy to dominate, and I also recognised a sadistic streak through a need to get revenge." She felt disappointed. Had he added that so quickly because he didn't want her to get the wrong impression? She cornered herself into a box where only work was.

"You knew my background. Maybe you were a teacher. Whatever you were or are, you need power and the opportunity to use it. We know you probably took care of your sick mother and that was a burden to you. You also have a history of violence, even if it has been almost legitimate or unrecorded." She licked her lips unconsciously, biting them together. "Hotch – this guys a professional. Teacher or..."

"Law enforcer." He finished her sentence. He was the only person she didn't mind doing that. "He could know about this investigation already."

"I disagree. If he did he would have had her take someone else while we've been here as proof he's better than us. He wouldn't be able to resist showing off his power," she said, challenging him with her words and tone.

"If he was aware been were on our way then he did that," Hotch said. "And since then the weather will have stopped any further abductions. He knows."

"And if he does, what will his next move be?" she said. "I suppose it depends on how intelligent he is. If he does nothing and we draw a blank, he could get away with it for years longer. If he shows off, then he could end up throwing us a line."

Emily caught his eye; she knew what this would mean. He gave her a knowing look. They were on the same page again, at least professionally. "We need to be open minded about his profession. A teacher would be aware of the FBI presence also, and could also engage trust by providing a false reference or forging grades. The school Jenni Appleby attended was told that Detective Winters was asking for our assistance – it's a possibility, Hotch ."

Hotch nodded. "We need to look at male officers and teachers without alerting anyone. I think we should keep Detective Winters out of this until we have a clearer idea."

She wondered what he was like to sleep with and the thought from nowhere surprised her. She wasn't thinking about sex, but actually sharing a bed. The act of sleeping was so personal, so intimate, as it was when you were at your most vulnerable, that she had rarely spent the whole night with any of her lovers, not wanting to give any of them that little bit of her soul. Before she could analyse the thought some more, Garcia entered, her hair sliding down from its clip with the force at which she was walking.

"Guys!" she said, her voice full of urgency. Everyone looked up, silence falling around them.

* * *

Morgan tapped his fingers against the table and Reid glared at him to stop the noise. He raised an eyebrow at Reid and repeated the same rhythmic pattern, knowing that Reid was understanding it the same way a tribal chief understood tom toms. Loud and clear. Morgan then caught sight of JJ's glare and the desire to irritate Reid was overwhelmed by a desire to remain alive.

He exhaled deeply, not quite a sign, more of a complete emptying of his lungs, and looked at the screen. It had been too long cooped up in these four walls and he was itching for some action. However, the only place that action was going to happen was in his brain, and for that to work at full capacity, he needed to place his attention on some input.

Reading through the information on one of the possible suspects, his mind wandered around the avenues of the thought process needed to torture and kill several men. He knew they were focusing on the female because she would be easier to track down, but giving some thought to the motivations for the male's penchant for torture. They had already assumed that he'd had to care of an infirm mother, although it could have been several years since she'd passed. His father would have been a bully and probably subjected him to painful and humiliating punishments, resulting in a child who would have had a passive-aggressive personality type and found it difficult to sustain friendships and relationships. As an adult he would have moved frequently from place to place and would have used prostitutes frequently. He would have sought out women who posed no threat to him and whom he could dominate. He may have been married, and it would have been an abusive relationship.

It wasn't difficult to profile such a guy. It was something they would see before and no doubt again in the not so distant future. But why the prolonged torture? Was it purely about control or was there a homosexual element to it as well? If they had a body they would know so much more.

Feeling frustrated, Morgan stood up and stretched his heads, catching snippets of Emily and Hotch's conversation about the likely profession of the male UnSub. He cast his eye over to them briefly, noting their body language and the way Hotch had made himself the same height as Emily to make better eye contact. Wondering how long it would take them to finally do something that this tedious mating ritual, he made his way toward the kitchen where Garcia had found herself a spot, a menagerie of brightly coloured beanie babies decorating the worktop.

"Aren't they a health and safety hazard?" he said, placing his hands on her back and applying pressure to the spots where he knew she felt tension from being sat at a computer for most of the day.

"Only to people who question their power," she said, gazing up at him. He loved the way she could make him feel like the only man in the universe, even though he knew he clearly wasn't. "What can I do for you, my piece of hot candied chocolate?"

He smiled at the new name. "I needed a break. It's so hot in there the condensation's asking for air conditioning."

"And how are the rest of my babies holding up?" Garcia said, her eyes now fixed back on her computer screen. She was looking at a website that appeared to be rather official, some of the details he could see giving it away to be a lawyer's back office, and something Garcia definitely did not have permission to access without a warrant.

"You sure you should you be in there, Baby Girl?" he said. There had been enough trouble in the past with Garcia and her illicit information seeking and he didn't want her to have any more of that stress.

"As sure as a chocolate éclair stuffed with cream. How did you say my pretties were?" she said, obviously trying to keep him off the topic of her current virtual playground.

"They were fine when I left. Everyone's frustrated that we can't get out there yet, although no more snow's fallen for about five hours," he said, craning his neck to look out of the small window.

"And happily doodle dandy for you, no more is forecast for another two days. In fact, we have a rise in temperature over the next few hours which will prompt a nice gentle thaw. Now why don't you go find out who else wants coffee and then you can put those heavenly fingers to good use by spooning sugar into my mug." She turned around, the computer screen showing a rather innocuous looking weather site, and pushed her mug towards him.

He shot her a smile and nodded; he knew when he wasn't wanted. Garcia needed to pry without him there and given the expression on her face, this was non-negotiable. "Sure thing, sweet lips," he said, taking the mug and walking back across the bull pen. He put his head around the door, spotting Rossi looking up.

"You want a coffee, Dave?" he said, noticing that Hotch and Emily were still engrossed in each other.

Rossi nodded. "In fact, I'll come and help you make it."

Rossi had just stood up when Garcia entered, her hair sliding down from its clip with the force at which she was walking.

"Guys!" she said, her voice full of urgency. Everyone looked up, silence falling around them. "I think I know where the girls are."

* * *

_Please review – like I said, reviews are addictive..._

_For anyone who's reading who doesn't have an account and can't pop this on alerts, I should be updating on Thursday. Remember you can still review even if you don't have an account._

_Thanks for reading_

_Sarah x_


	22. Chapter 22

_Please pity my poor beta, __**Lily Moonlight, **__who has been bombarded with chapters and made to read through them!! Thank you __**Lily, **__it is much appreciated!_

_Thank you again for all the reviews, and replies telling me where you are from. It's quiet a buzz finding you have people reading all over the world. It also makes me feel incredibly deficient as I couldn't read in any language other than English, so this chapter is dedicated to those who can!_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'Death is not the biggest fear we have; our biggest fear is taking the risk to be alive -- the risk to be alive and express what we really are.'  
- Don Miguel Ruiz

Chapter 22

Everything had faded to black some time ago, at the point when his foot had met with her skull for the sixth time. In her unconscious state, everything was peaceful. The flowers were in bloom, dancing rows of reds and pinks and blues, and she was dipping her feet in cold water. It was peaceful, so peaceful, and she didn't want to wake up.

Carla's voice brought her round, her quiet whispering of her name awakening her senses. At first, Sophie didn't know where she was, didn't remember what had happened, and then the pounding in her head began, a thousand little drummer boys all practising at the same time.

"Are you okay?" Carla's voice lacked any power, her weakened state drained of any power.

"My head hurts," Sophie said, trying to sit up, but finding that she was too dizzy and nauseous to move. "How are you? What did he do?"

He'd tried to make her watch. Threatened that he would kill Carla with the knife he had to her throat if he tried to interrupt his depraved acts. But she'd called his bluff and jumped on him from behind, sticking her fingers in his eyes and kneeing him in the groin when he threw her to the floor. Then she'd been punished.

"He left," Carla said. Sophie saw her turn over on the makeshift bed. He'd left her unbound. This worried her as she knew that he'd now bring something extra to defend himself the next time he came. "He didn't touch me afterwards."

Sophie forced herself to sit up, the action making her vomit. All that came up was bile and water and she was thankful for the empty stomach. "He's going to try to kill us both the next time he comes here," she said. "We need to make a plan."

She watched in amazement as Carla slid herself off the bed and crawled over to her, pulling a blanket around her. They huddled up in the corner, taking warmth from each other, and clinging on to the only bit of life they had left.

* * *

Morgan was determined not to feel the cold. He had taken as much of the flu medicine as he could without becoming drowsy although the temperature outside soon woke him anyway, like an icy hand shaking him out of his bed. Adrenaline was flowing through his veins; dilating his blood vessels and raising his heart rate, making him work as much on instinct as on brain power. He glanced at Hotch whose expression was grim but steadfast, showing little emotion, just the severity of the situation.

For the first time in days they had a break. Garcia had found them a lucky star and wished on it, and now they owned her a bigger bar of chocolate than before. Theodore Wells owned a small hunting lodge five and a half miles from the campus, surrounded by woodland. It wasn't in his name, or in the name of any of his relatives, and Garcia had only happened upon it by rifling through his lawyers' computerised database that she had somehow found her way into. He had paid for new flooring to be put down three years ago, at the time when his estate was held in trust, so had had to apply for the funds. Garcia had also found five other properties, owned in the names of deceased family members to avoid paying tax, but none were in the area that they suspected.

The late afternoon was hung with silence. There was no banter as the officers pulled on gaiters and boots, their lips remaining closed and their minds focused on what they were going to find. A faint piece of blue coloured the grey sky, giving promise to the remains of the day.

Morgan pulled on the FBI issued jacket, its dark blue material matching that that of the rest of his colleagues, blending them into one. Almost.

He was extracted from his absorption by seeing Emily steadying herself using Hotch's shoulder as she pulled her boot off and then slid it back on again. Clearly she hadn't thought about the action, and Morgan knew that she would have used whoever she had been stood near, regardless of rank. But still, it gave him something to chew on later and he filed it away in his brain for further consumption.

"Are we all set?" Detective Winters said, her feet crunching in the snow as she came toward them.

Emily stood up, removing her grip from Hotch's shoulder. Hotch nodded. "Your men are clear on what to do?"

"They couldn't be clearer. We surround the lodge from a quarter of a mile away and proceed forward. Yourself, Agents Prentiss, Morgan and Rossi will enter first, followed by myself, three of my officers and Agents Reid and Jareau," she said, almost as if she was reciting a learned text in class.

"You need to wait for my word before you enter. Our priority is to get the two girls out, if they are in there," Hotch said. "How long do you think it will take us to get there?"

Winters looked up at the sky, as if asking for divine intervention. "Half an hour to get to the campus, and then forty-five minutes of difficult walking. Thankfully, everyone seems fit. It's going to be gruelling before we get there."

"That will take us to after sunset," Morgan said. "What are we doing about getting the girls to hospital once we have them out of there?" He had to be positive, optimistic. This case had to have a happy outcome.

"There's a helicopter on standby," Hotch said. "It will be there in ten minutes once I've placed the call. We can't have it waiting as the noise of it could alert the UnSub."

Morgan stretched his legs out for one last time as JJ drove one of the cars around. He felt awake and alive, determination racing through every sinew. He glanced up at the sky and that patch of blue before getting into the car, praying that they would find what they were looking for.

* * *

Sophie pulled Carla in closer to her and felt the other girl's shivers pass into her own skin. She seemed better than she had been a few hours before, but her sentences weren't always coherent and she was still cold to the touch. "We need a plan," Sophie whispered. "We need to take him off-guard when he comes back."

"How?" Carla said. "He might come back with a gun. All he'll need to do is shoot us."

Sophie looked around the dimly lit room. When he came back, he would expect Carla to be on the bed. He knew she was weak; he wouldn't have expected her to move anywhere. Sophie knew that she had upset him by trying to protect Carla; he hadn't predicted that.

She remembered the profilers from the FBI, the nice woman with the dark hair who had spoken to her. What would they tell her to do? They would tell her to think about him, what she knew about him and predict his movements.

"We need to move," she said in Carla's ear. "Let's go." She half-carried and half-dragged Carla to a place at the side of the only door, so when he opened it, the door would shield them. It would buy them a few seconds and she would be able to assess what weapon he had brought.

Tucking the blankets around Carla she stood up, still feeling light headed and sick, and looked about the room again. She needed something to hit him with. There were cupboards at one side of the room, and a sink. She'd guessed they were in some sort of hunting lodge that was no longer used. A few empty barrels that had contained beer were stacked up in one corner. They would be of no use. If they were light enough for her to pick them up then they wouldn't have enough impact if she were to hit in him with one.

Sophie began to pull open cupboard doors, finding old glasses and cups. He hadn't bother clearing out the cupboards and she knew why; none of the girls who had ever been here had been able to move around. She was the first, and that was what was going to make him angry. She was spoiling his plans.

She crouched down and started to look in the cupboards at the bottom, her head pounding. And then she saw it; an old, rusting Winchester Model shotgun. One of her mom's boyfriends had been a keen hunter, in fact he'd taken her with him on a couple of occasions although she'd disliked it, and him, immensely. She pulled the shotgun out of its cubby hole and checked it over. It was unloaded, but that didn't matter. It was heavy.

Feeling even more nauseous than before she pulled herself back to the place where Carla was lay, her eyes half closed. Sophie put the shotgun on her lap and curled back up to the other girl, the only thing keeping her awake was the adrenaline she was feeling at knowing she was fighting for her life.

* * *

Morgan was thankful that it was JJ driving and not Rossi. The roads were packed with snow, and although some of it had now been shifted by the tractors that had been on the roads all day, it was still difficult to drive on. He could see the look of concentration on JJ's face as they took another bend at snail's pace, the tires skidding ever so slightly. Rossi's hands were gripping on for dear life and he thought that he looked almost travel sick. Morgan stifled a grin and transferred his attention to the changing scenery outside of the vehicle.

They had been climbing gradually for the past five or ten minutes, the trees around them becoming more densely packed. They'd received word from Hotch that they were to park further up the mountain, in a car park that Garcia had identified, and then they would descend around the lodge instead of having to climb to get to it, thus preserving some of their energy.

Morgan noticed JJ allowing the vehicle to slow slightly, taking her foot off the gas. "We nearly here?"

She nodded. "Parking lot is just ahead on the right. I can see Hotch pulling in there now."

He sat back again, his body warming up with another hit of adrenaline. He was itching to get out of the car and start the hunt; it was the part the primitive being that was still in him lived for.

The thrill of the chase.

And he knew that the killers he sought were similar. How close were they to the monsters whose heads they delved inside of week after week, day after day? For how long could they do this without becoming one of them? Morgan knew the answer, his answer: eternally. He'd had this conversation late one night with Garcia, after a case that had been particularly gruelling, with an UnSub who had a penchant for skinning the feet of his victims while they were still alive.

Her response had been typically Garcia: "_For as long as there have been vampires, there has been the slayer."_

He had laughed. Only Garcia could weave a pop culture reference into a serious conversation about the psyche of people's souls. Later that week he'd found a key ring attached to his car key; a cross with the same quote.

The car came to a sliding stop and Morgan jumped out, his steadying himself on the ground by using the door. He could hear Reid sharing a few words with Katie Walsh, who was also on the hunt, talking her through bits of the profile again. Morgan smiled: he could see that Katie was hanging on the kid's every word.

Hotch and Emily made their way over, no sign of any weakness left in Emily's ankle. Her hair was tied back, as was JJ's, her skin almost as pale as the snow. Why couldn't they get a case somewhere hot and sunny?

Hotch looked around him, nodding at a couple of Winters' key officers.

They were on their way.

* * *

She was sure it was getting colder. "I wish we knew what time it was?" Sophie said, her whisper seeming loud as it bounced off the cold walls. "I guess it's getting toward sundown."

Carla murmured, letting her know she was awake and listening, still conscious. The violent shivering had stopped, and Sophie didn't know if that was a good thing or not. Shivering, she knew, was the body's way to keep you warm. The muscles would spasm to produce heat. If Carla had stopped shivering, did her muscles now lack the energy to shiver? She wished she'd paid more attention in biology.

The silence hung about them like some leering vampire about to pounce. She wanted to go back into the cupboards, to see if somewhere there was another blanket that she could put around Carla. She hadn't checked them all.

Then she wondered if she could get Carla into one of the cupboards. She was incapable of defending herself. If she was hidden, it meant one less thing for Sophie to worry about, for a couple of minutes at least. It would also, potentially, make him more disturbed and less likely to act rationally. Going off his reaction to Sophie defending Carla, when something happened that he wasn't expecting he took himself out of the situation; he only liked things he could predict.

"We need to move you again," Sophie said, raising herself up on her heels. She didn't want to stand even though her head was feeling clearer and the sick feeling had gone. If she kept low, and to the side of the door where they were now, should he enter in the next few minutes they would still be fairly hidden. "If we can get you in that cupboard he won't know where you are." She put her arms under Carla's and began to pull her across the stone floor. The girl was a dead weight, but Sophie gave little thought to it. She should have thought of doing this sooner, but her mind just hadn't been working.

"Spiders..." Carla mumbled and Sophie smiled.

"Man with knife," she said back. "Spiders are going to be hibernating somewhere warm right now, and I don't think that cupboard will be their idea of a tropical holiday." She pulled open the door and angled Carla in, her heart pounding. Now the adrenaline was making her feel sick, the anticipation of a fight. She remembered the times she'd seen her mother defend herself from boyfriends who had shown their love with their fists. She'd done it herself a couple of times, particularly with one, who had come into her room one night. She'd broken his nose and the only thing she'd felt bad about was the fact that the blood had stained her favourite duvet cover, which at the time had been a retro My Little Pony thing. She'd been twelve. When they'd written down in class what they'd done that weekend, she'd said she'd had self-defence lessons. Her teacher had been impressed.

Closing the cupboard, she slid herself near to the back of the door again and sat against the wall, waiting, listening, for the footsteps that would spring her into action.

* * *

It reminded him of the formations of geese as they flew, their collective shape changing as they descended, dropping down between the trees and shrubs that made the mountains black. Their paths had been laid out carefully, even in a short space of time. Hotch and Rossi, and even himself, had done this before on many, many occasions, and unfortunately this would not be the last time. But what would he do, they do, without this chase? He looked at Hotch who gestured for him to take a right turn that would lead them down a different path to the back of the hunting lodge.

The snow was thin on the ground, the trees acting as a shield, making it an easier descent than he had expected. The light had dimmed to nothingness; leaving the world in shades of grey and brown, night time eating away the colour. The silence that had been with them since Garcia's revelation had not lifted, its fog enveloping them like a shroud. What would they find? If the girls were alive, what state would they be in?

Morgan could see movement between the trees as the officers spread out, their descent not a straight forward downward route, but a curved pathway, circling the lodge like a clowder of cats around a mouse.

No lights flickered in the distance. No sounds were carried through the thin evening air, a mourning air. Whatever they found, some lives would never be the same. And for that he would mourn in private, in the early hours before dawn when he awoke with the dreams dealing with the sights and smells his conscious couldn't understand.

* * *

She heard the creak of a door and wondered if her mind was playing tricks on her, hearing things. Maybe this was his plan; to drive her to insanity. She crouched, her legs ready to spring, the old shotgun held in both hands which were damp with cold sweat.

A floorboard quietly yelled and footfalls echoed on the stone steps. Her heart began to pound so hard in her chest that she wondered if it would give her away. She swallowed, her dry mouth failing to give her throat relief.

He was here.

* * *

The lodge came into view; ivy covered walls and dirtied windows. Morgan stood two hundred metres away, facing the front entrance. Emily and Hotch were with him, blending into the background, into the darkness. A crow cawed, landing on a branch above him and scattering dead leaves to the ground.

"There is a motorbike parked next to the lodge," Hotch said into the speaker on his wrist. "The UnSub is likely to be on the property."

Morgan looked to his boss whose expression was at its darkest. They would have liked a sniper or two, but there was no use. They would have to enter.

"How are we playing this, Hotch?" Rossi's voice echoed down Morgan's Eustachian tube.

"We enter at the same time. Prentiss, Morgan and myself will head straight down to the basement, as that's the most likely place for them to be. If we're lucky, we'll catch him unawares. If we're not, we have a potential hostage situation in which we'll either talk him down, or take him out," Hotch said, his tone determined and fixed.

Another crow cawed.

"We're on the move."

They walked, almost stealthily, their pace the same, almost regimented. Morgan went to the front of the door, Prentiss to the side and Hotch behind him. He twisted the handle and it opened.

They entered as a third bird called to welcome the shadowing night.

* * *

_Please review! And if anyone's checked out the spoilers about next week's 100__th__ episode, who do you think the two will be?_

_Thank you for reading!_

_Sarahx_


	23. Chapter 23

_Muchas gracias for the reviews and the messages, and apologies at my poor attempt at using a language other than English! I'm always rather dubious about posting on a Saturday as people are out and about more._

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter, and please review! I want to get a lot of writing done tonight (and tomorrow!) and reviews will help keep the words flowing._

_Many thanks to __**Lily Moonlight **__for the read through and __**chiroho **__for the discussions!_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'The bravest are surely those who have the clearest vision of what is before them, glory and danger alike, and yet notwithstanding go out to meet it.'  
- Thucydides

Chapter 23

When she was younger she'd played hockey for her junior high team. They'd played one match against a team that were later found to be fielding players older than they should have been. The player Sophie had been marking had been bigger and tougher than her slight self and had become increasingly irritated with Sophie shadowing her every move. Eventually, tempers had become frayed, and Sophie had been picked up and launched into the wall, crumpling like a porcelain doll.

The scene was almost re-enacted in the cellar of the hunting lodge, her still slight frame thudding against the brick wall with more force, now that she was being thrown by a full-grown man instead of a half-grown woman.

"Bitch!" he spat at her. "You little whore!" He came back toward her and then Sophie remembered how she had used the hockey stick in her hands to her advantage and cracked him across the shins with the shotgun. The force sent him to the ground and the sound of the crack as concrete met bone gave her strength. She pulled herself up from the floor, the shotgun still in her hand and aimed for his head. Then she felt her legs whipped from under her and she met the cold surface under her feet once again. This time he was on top of her, pinning her down, a hand slapping her across the face, drawing blood.

She tasted metal and felt a shooting pain through her jaw. Lifting a knee to his groin, she drew a guttural cry of pain from him, but he failed to move, and now she saw the knife in his hand, its blade silver and shining in the weak light.

"Where is she? Where've you put her?" he said, not letting go, the whole weight of his upper body on her shoulders. "Little whore. I want her to watch you being butchered, I want her to see me do to you what _you_ promised, like _she_ promised. Now where is she?" He rose up, grabbing her hair and pulling up her head, then slamming it back down. Sophie almost blacked out from the force, praying that Carla stayed hidden. He wouldn't go searching for her, that she was convinced of. If he left her even for a second he would know she would try to attack him.

"She's gone," Sophie said, trying to hide the fear she felt deep inside. He seemed to like fear; it was what he was chasing. "She got out." She raised her voice, wanting Carla to hear her and stay where she was. Maybe she was unconscious and could hear anyway.

He laughed, the noise harsh and filled with anticipation. "Well," he said. "We'll have to make sure that you don't..."

* * *

The flooring that Theodore Wells had paid to have fitted was real oak, the smell of it still fresh. Emily heard Rossi faint footfalls in the back, heading toward the stairs and she felt some degree of reassurance that they had all aspects covered. She wasn't worried for her own safety – logic and experience told her that it was unlikely she or any of her colleagues would be seriously harmed – but for that of the girls and for what the appearance of the FBI would mean for them.

She continued to walk forward, her flashlight covering the walls and the floor. She fixed it on something that caught her eye, then picked the item up. It was a hair tie, a purple one, the same one she had seen in Sophie's hair. She showed it Hotch who nodded. They knew the girls were there.

* * *

He froze; the blade to her throat. The whisperings that had been spouting from his mouth ceased and Sophie felt every muscle in his body tense.

"Don't move," he said, the words barely loud enough to here. Holding the blade closer to her throat with one hand he used the other to go into his jacket pocket.

Her eyes glanced down and she winced. The knife had a friend.

* * *

"It's too quiet," Emily said, in as low a voice as possible.

"He knows we're here," Hotch responded. He lowered his weapon, backing into a corner. "Hold your places," he said into the speaker on his wrist. "No one is to move."

Emily strode closer to him, Morgan doing the same, their weapons trained on the doorway down to the basement.

Hotch glanced at them. "He will be armed," he said. She could hear tension in his voice now, worry there. "And we won't be able to get a clean shot if one or both of the girls are alive. If he's alone and he threatens – disable."

"If he's not?" Morgan said.

"Pray your Kevlar's not faulty," Hotch said. "I'm going first. I'll try to negotiate from the stairway to keep cover. Listen to me and I'll pass on information."

He readied his weapon and Emily watched as he silently made his way towards the door to the stairs.

* * *

Now she knew what had startled him. Footfalls. People above them.

And it wasn't someone he was expecting. She remembered the dark haired woman from the FBI, Emily something. She hoped it wasn't her. She didn't want someone else to be hurt.

The gun twinkled as he pressed it into her the side of her stomach, the pressure making the sickness return. "Knife or the gun, Christina?" he said. "Which will it be?"

"I'm not Christina," she said. "Who is Christina?" She felt the pressure of the gun lessen slightly.

"You are all Christina," he said. "You are all dirty whores."

He moved the knife from her throat and traced it down the front of her body, its blade splitting the fine material of her t-shirt and drawing a fine line of blood from her collar bone to her bra.

"Tell me about Christina," she said, her voice shaking slightly. She heard a movement in the cupboard and felt both relief and concern. "Tell me about Christina. What did she do to you?"

The blade tore the front of her bra open and the cold air bit her skin. She tried to hide her fear, turning her head to look at him, hearing the door at the top of the stairs creak open.

"It was what she didn't do, that was the problem."

* * *

"It was what she didn't do, that was the problem."

Emily heard the words and they all paused, their backs to the wall of the stairs. Hotch glanced round at them, his eyes showing surprise. Sophie was alive, and she was buying herself time.

"Tell me about her," they heard her whisper. Her voice had become soft and beguiling, and Emily's eyes widened with shock at the bravery of the girl. "What was she like?"

"She was my sister. And she was a whore."

* * *

He spat the words, his face contorted into an expression that Sophie knew she would see in her nightmares should she live beyond today. She twisted round and was surprised when he didn't fight to restrain her further. The blade was still against her chest, touching skin she wished wasn't exposed.

She knew that they were on the stairs and that as soon as they came into the room he would fire at them. He had nothing to lose, so he would take as many with him as he could, and she didn't want Emily to be hurt. She was sure she was one of the people outside, or maybe Sophie just hoped she was.

Sophie touched his face, leaving her hand on his jaw bone. She forced herself to look into his eyes, but said nothing.

"What – are you doing?" he said, his voice showing signs that he was perturbed. The hand with the knife in it moved and struck her hand away, cutting flesh again. The stinging reminded her that she was still alive and needed to fight.

She turned her head and let it dip slowly to her chest, almost an act of submission. She felt warm breath, as warm as the Miami breeze from when she was on holiday at thirteen years old on the back of her neck and then she let her head spring back, into his chin, knocking his head onto the wall.

He yelled and she moved away, into the centre of the room. The sobs had started now, the fear hidden no more, and she heard footsteps punctuating his shouting and swearing and threatening, and she saw him stand up near the cupboard where Carla still was, the gun shining in his hand like a trophy.

* * *

Emily followed Hotch through the door. Sophie's cries and the UnSub's yells told them that they were no longer near each other; he wouldn't have a human shield. Hotch stood in front of the girl, whose sobs silenced as soon as they entered. Emily didn't dare glance at her. Her eyes stayed fixed on Edmund Baker who stood with a gun in his hand, his knife at his feet.

"Drop your weapon," Hotch said, his voice now calm but firm. "You know you won't get out of here a free man."

Baker looked at them, laughter about to erupt from his chest. "I've never been free," he said, his voice an eerie calm. "Did you find his body?"

"Did he die or did you kill him?" Hotch said.

Baker laughed. "It depends whether withholding his medication classifies as murder. Now why don't you leave us alone so me and the girl can finish our conversation."

Emily put her gun in her holster and stepped forward. Hotch could kill her later. She had noticed Baker giving slight glances at the cupboard to his right. Each time he had done so she had heard Sophie become more distressed. Carla was in there. "Talk to me Edmund," she said, holding her hands out, showing him that she was unarmed, helpless. "You wanted to go for coffee and I turned you down. That must have made you mad."

His gun went straight on her.

"I can see why you had issues. Your father loved your sister more than you. You hated her, hated the attention she got. Then you found her having sex with your friend, I guess. Your best friend. Perhaps he was your only friend. And then it stopped being sibling rivalry, but then again, it never was that, was it? You didn't want her to be your sister, you wanted something more, didn't you, Eddie. Wanted to feel the touch of her skin against yours, feel her heart speed up under your fingers, make her scream like your friend did..." He stepped toward her, his hand shaking. She willed him closer. He wasn't a gunman, had probably never used one before. He liked the kill to be with his hands and a blade. That was risk she was taking. The only knife she could see was on the floor, he could easily have another concealed in his pockets.

"And she told everyone, didn't she, Edmund. She told your friend that her brother had been giving her the creeps, watching her get undressed, spying through the lock on the bathroom door. Did you ever steal her underwear and hide it under your pillow?" His expression told her that he had. "Did it get you hot?" She breathed the word at him, shifting closer. Only the gun was in his hand, but by now, neither Hotch nor Morgan would have a clean shot. She side stepped, allowing Hotch a small angle. It would be enough, he was good and she knew he had her back.

Other footsteps sounded and she knew they had back up. A scuffling noise told her that Sophie was now out of the room, being led out by JJ. They were winning.

"Your own flesh and blood rejected you. How did you get revenge? Did you kill her too? Will we find her body somewhere in these woods? Is that when you finally had your way with her, _tasted_ her, felt what it was like to have your sister beneath you, only she wasn't screaming your name was she?"

"Stop it," he said, his voice still calm. "You know nothing. You're just a thick, stupid, clueless whore who teased the boys. She had everyone, you know. She was the town whore. Even one of the teachers. And you, you look like her, _Emily Prentiss, _with your dark hair and your red lips. I bet you like it hard and hot, don't you? I bet you had them all, everyone who wanted you..."

A louder cry emerged from inside the cupboard and his head turned. He took one step back, his free hand reaching into his pocket, and Emily stepped into him, taking advantage of his distraction and his lack of balance, her hands meeting with his shoulders and her leg twisting under his left leg which was taking all his weight. He toppled down, the gun leaving his hand and the knife he had been reaching for falling out of his pocket.

She placed a knee on his chest as Morgan and Hotch ran over, turning him onto his side and rendering him immobile. He fought and kicked when Morgan spoke to him, arresting him, adding a 'sick son of a bitch' for good luck.

Emily shifted forward, towards the cupboard, realising she had fallen awkwardly on her ankle. She pulled open the door and crouched down.

"Where's Sophie?" a weak voice demanded. Carla's eyes were half closed, and her frame looked frail and feeble. Emily reached in and began to help her out, the girl dragging her legs rather than using them and Emily remembered what Edmund Baker had done to the girls to stop them from attempting to escape.

"She's outside. She'll be waiting for you," she pulled Carla towards her, feeling how cold she was, how close to death. Blankets had been pulled around her, and cuts and gashes had been rudimentarily treated. _Sophie_, Emily thought, feeling tears pick at the backs of her eyes. She'd kept her alive. "Rossi!" she called over to Dave, who was peering around the room, Baker having been hustled up the stairs.

"Emily?" Rossi said, stepping over. "The paramedics are on their way, you know."

"I know. But she needs to get out of here now. Let's not wait for them."

Rossi nodded at her, to wise to follow protocol. He squatted, his eyes assessing the injuries they could . "I'm Dave, Carla. I'm going to carry you out if that's okay?"

Carla nodded, her eyes meeting his. She looked almost defeated. "I want Sophie," she said as Rossi lifted her.

"We're going to get you to her, sweetheart," Emily said, stroking the girl's hair as Rossi carried her to the stairs, carrying her up them as if she weighed no more than a bag of sugar.

Emily heard the buzzing sound of a helicopter as she reached opened the door to the outside. A blast of cold air hit her, and she heard Carla gasp.

"Have you got Carla?" Sophie called. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine," Emily said as Sophie made her way over to Rossi, her arms reached out to touch her friend and prove that she was still there, still alive.

"We've got a chair over here," Detective Winters said. "Dr Reid managed to find them."

Rossi placed Carla down, and then stood beside Emily. A paramedic was now with them, wrapping Carla up tightly, and glancing up to the dark grey sky.

"Where's the helicopter gone?" Emily said as Hotch made his way over.

"It's taken Baker. Morgan's gone with him. Another is one its way for the girls," he said. "It should be here within minutes."

She felt his eyes bore into her for a moment, and then release their gaze onto something else. "If you had gone towards him, he would have shot you," she said, not looking at him, not yet. "You knew that I would take him off guard, that's why you had me down there."

She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye. "I knew what you would do," he said. "I knew he wouldn't shoot. It's not in his profile. He would want to touch you." Hotch kept his eyes off her. As far as anyone else was concerned they were discussing the possibilities of more snow. "No. There were only a few seconds that we had no clean shot. And then you moved and there was no way he would have hurt you." His eyes were dark and deep, unreadable. "I would have shot him first."

Emily let the silence hang around for a few more seconds. "You're not - " she turned to look at him, tilting her head to one side. "Mad?"

His eyes finally met hers and any words he might have said were stopped by the roaring of the helicopter hanging over the trees. They girls would be airlifted up and taken to the hospital where they would be reunited with their families.

"You mind if I go with them?" she shouted at Hotch. He nodded his assent, and then left her to her thoughts as Detective Winters made her way over, a flurry of snowflakes beginning to dance from the clouds.

* * *

_Have a lovely Sunday people, and I'll update on Monday- if I get enough encouragement!!_

_Oh, if you review, let me know who your favourite character is and why – I'm probably weird for asking things like this, but I find it interesting!_

_Please review!_

_Sarah x_


	24. Chapter 24

_Thank you once again for the reviews – you spoil me. Keep it up!_

_Cookies and Freddo's to __**Lily Moonlight**__ for the read through – I got rid of 'em! And if you are in need of some very moving Hotch/Emily angst, let me point you in the direction of __**chiroho**__'s new fic, Don't Pass Me By._

_Enjoy, keep reviewing and I'm sure I'll keep writing anyway!_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end; if you look for comfort you will not get either comfort or truth only soft soap and wishful thinking to begin, and in the end, despair.'  
- C.S. Lewis

Chapter 24

He did not enjoy helicopter rides.

Ten years ago, a girlfriend had taken him to Vegas for his birthday and as part of the gift, he had flown over the Grand Canyon in a 'copter, along with half a dozen other people. And for some unfathomable reason, he had not found it a satisfying experience. It lacked the luxury of a plane and the whirring blades he knew were above him seemed reminiscent of the swirling vortexes that swarmed his nightmares. The girlfriend, a woman a decade or so older than him, had also had a very annoyed husband he had not been aware of. Until the helicopter had landed, that was.

No, Morgan did not like helicopter rides.

He stared across the empty seat at Edmund Baker, who was quite happily smiling out of the window. His hands were pressed onto his knees and he seemed at ease, content. His eyes were unfocused, and Morgan knew he was reliving his crimes, trailing through each murder with a fine toothed comb, extracting delicacies that would see him through the days to come.

They descended rather abruptly, trees coming quickly into view through the windows. As the noise diminished Morgan caught the sound of whispering from Baker's lips.

"What's he saying?" one of the officers who had accompanied them said, squinting curiously at Morgan. "It sounds like a prayer."

Baker turned to them and smiled between his lips rapidly moving. He nodded, and upped the volume, the words forming chant, a repetitive message.

"Sliding all along the waterfall, with you my brown eyed girl. Sliding all along the waterfall, with you my brown eyed girl..." It continued, his voice monotone and the words spewing out faster and faster.

"Edmund," Morgan said, holding up a palm. "You need to stop."

Baker's eyes danced and he upped his volume, staring at Morgan.

"It won't work, you know," Morgan said quietly. "There's no way you'll get off on a plea of diminished responsibility. You've no history of mental illness for a start."

The chanting stopped and Baker's mouth curved into a smile. "I'll have the best lawyer money can buy and in a few years I'll be back out there, meeting new girls and showing them a good time."

Morgan laughed, a look of annoyance crossing Baker's face. "In a few years time you'll be at Sioux Falls waiting for that lethal injection. The only girls you'll be seeing will be the ones in your dreams."

The chanting restarted and Morgan shook his head, unclipping Baker's handcuffs and leading him out of the 'copter. He was to be held at the cells at Calverville Point station before being transferred tomorrow to Rapid City. Before he left he would be interviewed by the team and they would add to their background knowledge of serial killers. Through talking, Baker would inadvertently help them in the future.

"You know, Edmund," Morgan said as he was bustled into a van that would drive them the mile to the station. "You almost committed the perfect crime with Emile and Carrie."

Baker's eyes shone at the compliment, and then dimmed. He was intelligent and flattery would not necessarily buy them information. Sometimes it would be months before they could find out any form of truth, sometimes never, but Morgan felt that they'd not have to wait that long with Baker. He would want to tell, to confess and boast about the success of his crimes.

"And how weren't the rest perfect?" Baker said as the van set off, a guard sat either side of him.

"How could they be? You got caught. If you'd left it at just Carrie and Emile we'd never have been able to find you," Morgan said, watching Baker's eyes flicker at the names. "Why did you kill Carrie?"

Baker shrugged. "Why not?"

"She was pregnant with your child," Morgan said. "She'd booked an abortion; then decided against it."

"It might have been a girl," Baker said. "Another whore like its mother. Did I tell you where I was going to start when I was released? That FBI slut you work with. And when I get hold of her, I'll tear her skin from her body with my teeth and feed it to her." He laughed, his eyes waiting for Morgan's reaction, but Morgan had heard it all before. The thought occurred to him that he had glad it was him and not Hotch in the van, else Baker might not have reached the cells. Then Morgan wondered exactly why he thought that.

"I've already told you, Edmund, you won't be setting foot outside as a free man ever again. Even if a jury find you mentally deficient," the words were chosen for effect, "you'll be sectioned and put into a mental hospital where they'll a lot of psychos interested in a boy with a buff body like you."

"Nobody said I was mentally deficient," Baker said, snapping as the van came to a stop. It had skidded once or twice and Morgan had been concerned that an accident would give Baker a slim window to escape. "And they wouldn't touch me."

Morgan raised his eyebrows, leaving Baker with a worried look on his face. It was enough to keep him quiet as they marched him into the station and down to the cells. Morgan followed behind, a smattering of photographers and journalists waiting their arrival, less than he would have expected due to the weather. A few questions were thrown at them, and at Baker, but no one responded. Morgan was surprised that he didn't take the opportunity to try to speak, to be recognised, but the expression on his face and his slumped shoulders as his was placed in the bare cell which was almost too cold, told Morgan why. He had just realised what he had done.

"Put him on suicide watch as soon as you've booked him in," Morgan said quietly to the officer in charge. "He's on a major come down. You also need a psych eval as soon as possible. He's liable to fall into a heavy depression rapidly and if he hurts himself, you don't want the paperwork."

"Hey, Edmund," Morgan said after passing on his instructions. Baker looked up, seeming younger than he had done in the van. "I'll come by to talk to you in the morning. Before you get taken to Rapid City."

There was a silence as piercing eyes glared through the bars.

"I'll talk now."

"Your brief's not here"

Baker shrugged. "Let's talk now."

Morgan nodded and gave a look to the guard who opened the cell door.

"You'll be okay?" the guard asked before Morgan entered.

"Sure. I've interviewed enough of these scumbags to know how they work." The door clicked shut behind him and he was left alone with Baker and his secrets.

* * *

Sophie had been violently sick on the journey to the hospital, although the paramedics had assured Emily it was likely to be a result of the trauma to the head that Baker had inflicted. Carla had succumbed to unconsciousness as soon as the IV line had been attached.

Her unconscious state had caused Sophie to panic at first, the girl beginning to sob, and it had taken all of Emily's persuasive powers to soothe her, reassuring her that her friend was okay and was going to make it.

"I thought we were both going to die," Sophie said, once she was settled in a private room, Carla in the bed opposite. The doctors had already checked them over and their parents were on the way, and on their arrival Emily would head back over to Calverville Point to pick up with the debriefing.

"You saved yourself and Carla," Emily said. Sophie was now more settled, although she kept glancing round at the plain but modern features of the hospital room. "You had attacked him before, hadn't you?"

Sophie nodded, some colour having returned to her cheeks. She was due to have a brain scan in a few minutes to make sure that no real physical damage had been done by Baker. "He was going to rape Carla in front of me, so I stopped him. I don't think he expected that and it scared him."

"What did he do to you after that?" Emily said gently, amazed at the teenager's resilience.

"He hit me, and I thought he was going to try to kill me but he didn't – I don't know why. But after that I don't think he saw me as being female anymore. Does that make sense?"

"Perfectly," Emily said.

Sophie looked at her, her eyes pooling tears. It would be good for her to cry, to feel that relief. She'd had to be so strong, and now she could let someone else be strong for her, but Emily had a feeling that that wasn't Sophie's way. "How do we go back to normal after this? Before I only used to worry about homework and exams and getting a date for a Saturday night. Now that doesn't seem important anymore."

Emily smiled, reaching over to the bed and placing a hand on Sophie's. "It will become important again, eventually. You're strong, and your mind will recover. You will deal with it, and in the long run, it will make you tougher and able to deal with things that make other people crumble."

Sophie's eyelids were beginning to droop with sleep. "How did you get to do your job?" she said.

Emily shrugged. "I went to college and after did a couple of internships and then decided I wanted to join the FBI. I wanted to be a profiler, but it was tough to get into the BAU, so I had to bide my time and wait for an opportunity to come up," she gave a small smile, remembering how it had come up.

"What did you study at college?"

"Criminology and psychology," Emily said. Her mother had never approved of her choice, and had only agreed when Emily had threatened not to go at all.

"I think I'd like to do that. I'd like to do what you do," Sophie said.

"You did a little bit of it when you were down there, with him," Emily said, remembering the time she, Hotch and Morgan had spent on the steps down to the basement, listening to the girl trying to talk him around.

Her comment got a smile from Sophie. "You know, I was never really that scared. I knew I could die. I knew what he had done – the pictures were all over. But I knew if I thought too much about it we wouldn't get out of there. He liked us to be scared. Power," she said. "I've seen it in some of my mother's boyfriends. That's what they get off on."

"You've got the basics of him right," Emily said. "That was primarily what he was about. I'm not sure if we should be talking about this though."

"Why not?" Sophie gave a small shrug then winced. "I find it interesting."

"What are your grades like at school, Sophie?" Emily said, curious, her mind racing with ideas.

"A's. I'm a bit of a study geek. I do go out though. I was meant to have a date this weekend with a really nice guy," she smiled. "I was speaking to him on the phone before it all happened."

"I'm sure he'll still be waiting for you," Emily said, hoping he would be.

Sophie nodded, looking younger now, looking her age. "Maybe. I'll need to catch up of my school work too. I don't want to get behind. I might ask him if he'll come round and go through his notes with me."

"Do you want to go to college then?"

Sophie gave a weary smile. "I'd love to, but I don't think we'll be able to afford it. I might have to settle for Black Hills, although that would be rather ironic. Truth is, Emily, we don't even have good medical insurance." She looked about the room. "Mom will probably say that she can take care of me at home."

Emily heard footsteps and voices from down the corridor. Their parents were hear, the doctor explaining briefly the girls' conditions. She stood up, squeezing Sophie's hand. "Don't worry about the medical bills," she said. "I'm pretty sure you'll get all the treatment you'll need."

Sophie smiled. "I'm used to making do. Maybe that's how I manage to survive."

Emily nodded, not quite trusting herself to say anything at that point. She swallowed, the door opening and a gasp coming from Carla's mother. "I'll be back to see you tomorrow," she said quietly. "And we'll talk more about profiling then."

Sophie gave her once last slight smile before directing her attention at her mother, and Emily made her way out of the room.

"Agent Prentiss!" a male voice called out to her a few seconds after her departure. She turned around and saw Carla Jackson's father there. She retraced her steps, noticing how different his demeanour was now.

"Thank you," he said when she was close enough. "You saved her."

Emily smiled, squeezing her lips together slightly. "She was saved before we got there by the other girl in there. If it hadn't had been for Sophie..." she didn't finish the sentence, there was no need.

"I believe so. The detective who brought us here informed us of what had happened. And my little girl is going to be alright, thanks to Sophie and yourself. We are incredibly grateful..." words were lost from him. Taking a step closer she put a hand on to his shoulder, offering some comfort. From inside the room she could hear Carla and her mother, softly spoken words that some thought would never be said.

"It's our job, Mr Jackson. That's what we do," she said. "And now it's your job to help Carla get over this."

He nodded, still tearing up as he returned to the room. Emily watched as the door closed, then made her way to the reception to see, as her father would have put it, a man about a dog.

* * *

A table and another chair were brought in for Morgan, as well as two glasses of water. Morgan let Baker chose which glass he wanted, then took a drink from the other one. He waited for Baker to begin, knowing that giving him some semblance of control was likely to open him up

"There's another body," Baker said. "One you haven't found."

Morgan waited, saying nothing.

"My sister's body."

He'd thought as much. Ever since he'd mentioned Christina they'd known that there had been an earlier victim, a former murder.

"Everyone thinks that she just disappeared. Even my parents. They thought she'd just gone, had enough. They never knew what happened. She told everyone else, but not them, never them. They preferred me you see, and they knew what she was like. My dad caught her with a boy when she was just fourteen, letting him do it to her in the stables."

Morgan caught the phrasing. Women for Baker were passive and sex was a way of control. He'd had to exert his power to prove himself a man, and when his sister wouldn't let him but allowed his friends, he'd been weakened.

"Tell me about your sister," Morgan said. He knew Baker was expecting him to ask where the body was, but that didn't matter. Eventually he'd tell them, or they'd find it. Morgan imagined that it was in the woods, not far from where they'd found Carrie and Emile.

"You know all you need to know about her." Baker looked away from him, his arms folded across his chest.

"What about your father? When did he die?"

"Not soon enough."

"Did he hit you?"

Baker looked at him with stony eyes. "From the day I was born he showed more love to the flask of whisky he carried than he did me. And the only time he showed my mother any affection was when he was trying to persuade her to not call the cops because he had knocked out two of her teeth."

"How did you choose your girls?" Morgan said. Changing the direction of the questions would prevent Baker from spinning stories. He wouldn't have chance to get into the flow of a tale and elaborate.

"I saw their birthday banners, and found their photos. I researched them and stalked them. Know thy enemy."

"Did you try to get them pregnant?"

His face changed, and Morgan understood.

"When you were about to kill Carrie she told you that she hadn't gone through with the abortion, didn't she?" Morgan said. "But you didn't believe her until you looked. That's why you kept the foetus – you wanted the child."

"I would have been a good father," Baker said. "Not like mine."

Morgan stood up, pushing his chair away. "You're a psychopath," he said. "You are incapable of love or empathy and the only thing you feel is the need is to control. You are exactly like your father, Edmund, and don't try and kid yourself otherwise."

He walked to the door of the cell which was opened for him as soon as he reached it. He didn't look back; there was nothing to see.

* * *

Hotch found Emily sat in the motel lounge, a glass of orange juice in front of her, its ice having already melted. She looked a million miles away, her thoughts elsewhere and definitely not in Calverville Point.

"Emily," he said. She jumped at the sound of his voice, brought back to reality. "Are you okay?"

"Hotch," she said, still landing. "I'm... I'm... sorry – I was just..."

"Thinking," he said, finishing her sentence. He sat next to her on the sofa. No one else was there. Reid had gone somewhere with Katie. Morgan was talking to two of the local officers and Rossi was helping Jolene cook of all things. JJ was catching up with the messages that had been left from other police departments, requesting their help. They were due to debrief soon, break down what had happened and then write up their reports, but that wasn't for a while yet. Tomorrow they would be fully focused on their second case.

"Yeah," she said. "I was just thinking about how lucky I got, even though I never realised it. I complain about my childhood, Hotch, but compared with some..." she looked at the sofa, her expression one of disbelief. Emily often wore her thoughts on her face, and especially in her eyes.

"You're thinking of Sophie," he said. "How is she?"

"Remarkable. The way she is dealing with it, how she was in there," Emily shook her head. "I wouldn't have been able to cope like she did."

"But you did cope with what life threw at you when you were that age," Hotch said. "Different circumstances, but you managed and you have succeeded. Our backgrounds make us who we are; we of all people know that. Sophie will get to where she wants to be because of who she is, and because of what's made her."

Emily shot him a quick smile, still looking thoughtful. "She's tough, Hotch. Even now, she isn't crumbling, and I don't think she needs to in order to move on. She's bright and..."

He looked at her half sternly. He knew this tone and he knew her with her big heart and inability to always switch off the empathy that there was something behind her speech.

Emily's eyes widened as they met his and he saw the remains of tears unshed there. "I paid her medical bill. Otherwise, her mother would have had her discharged early and she wouldn't have gotten the treatment she needs."

He nodded, saying nothing. At some point nearly all of them had done it. Rossi had bought a house for the victims of one case; Morgan still visited the two boys left after their parents had been murdered, and he wasn't even going to go through Gideon's penances for the killers he'd put away. It was one way of dealing with the job.

"You don't think it's unprofessional?" she said, her eyes now staring away from him, the orange juice still untouched.

"No," he shook his head. "I think it's human." He looked at her, wishing he could glide a finger across her cheek and turn her head so she would look at him. "I don't think it's wrong that you're going to set up a college fund for her either."

Now she did turn round to face him, her eyes ablaze with surprise. "How did you know?" she said quickly. "Can you read my mind?"

He laughed. "Only to a certain extent. You're forgetting that we've worked together for a fair amount of time and I know you." He stopped, words that needed to be left unsaid were on the tip of his tongue.

"Do you think that's the right thing to do? She won't go to a good college if someone doesn't do something for her," her tone was now defensive and Hotch wished he could put his arm around Emily's shoulders and pull her into his chest, allaying her qualms physically and verbally. He couldn't though, not right now. That didn't mean never, but here and now – it wasn't the time. But when would that time be?

"If it's going to make you happy, then yes," he said. "The job we do – we have to take happiness when we can get it. Are you going to tell her?"

Emily nodded. "Before we go, at some point. It will be in trust and they'll be certain conditions, such as what the money can be used for." She looked at him, her eyes suddenly wary. "Please don't say anything to any of the others, Hotch. They'll think I'm turning into some crazy old woman."

He laughed lightly and she looked amused at the sound. "You may be crazy sometimes, but you're certainly not old!" And then he thought about his words and how they must sound: familiar, personal – he could have hurt her feelings by affirming that she was crazy, and the expression on his face changed to one of seriousness. "I didn't mean..."

She shook her head. "Hotch, I know. Which sane person would bring you flasks of coffee across a snow covered square at half past midnight?" She had turned fully towards him now, her legs tucked up on the sofa, her elbow resting against its back, mirroring his body language, and he couldn't help but analyse that and its meanings.

"It was much appreciated," he said. He thought, choosing his words with caution. He needed to give her some sort of inkling as to the way he felt, but without saying too much so that she felt obliged to respond. "Thankfully, the heating's working again, so if you want to bring coffee again, you won't need to freeze this time."

"Hey, Hotchner, it's your turn this time!" she said, the light in her eyes lighting a fire in his chest. It was a baby step, he knew, but a significant one.

Hotch nodded. "Twelve-thirty?"

"It's a date," she said, her voice quiet and he wondered who serious this actually was. "Maybe make it a bit earlier. I need my beauty sleep."

"But you, my sweet, are beautiful already."

Hotch looked behind him. Garcia was there, and had clearly caught the last part of their conversation. He hoped it was just the last part. "Penelope?" he said.

She smiled, rather broadly, as if something had just made her very happy. Obviously catching his look she grinned even wider. "You saved them," she said. "Carla and Sophie." Her eyes filled with tears. "It's not often that this happens, that we get such a happy ending... and anyway, Hotch, Em, the rest of the team are waiting for you as the debriefing was meant to start ten minutes ago and neither of _you_ are there."

"Thank you, Garcia," he said, cursing his lapse. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea if he was going to be distracted – but he should be able to manage that distraction if he was aware of it, he could control it. "And, by the way," Garcia looked at him, her smile having vanished and he realised that his preoccupied and self-berating expression was worrying her. "We would never have saved them without you. You were the one who found them."

The smile returned. "Thank you, sir," she said, almost bouncing toward the door. "I'll see both of you over there."

He looked at Emily who was now standing beside him, looking as entertained by Garcia as she was. "Maybe we should donate her to research for anxiety disorders," he said dryly.

Emily laughed. "That's where she came from. They couldn't cope; nobody got any work done."

They began to walk toward the door, the snow falling lightly now, more like a snow globe than a blizzard. "Do you think she heard what we were talking about?" he said, knowing that in doing so he was creating an issue.

"Would it matter?" she said, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

He shook his head, following her outside into the evening and not even noticing the cold.

* * *

_Please review! And, in order to profile my readers (I sound such a dweeb putting that!) tell me who has been your favourite UnSub in the series so far and why..._

_And – do I post Wednesday, even though it's the episode we've all be waiting for, or is another day better?_

_Sarah x_


	25. Chapter 25

_Tausend dank for the reviews! I decided to post this early Wednesday morning my time (GMT) so if anyone needed something a little fluffier it was on hand! I'm not up to date with review replies – I will do this as soon as I get in from work tonight. This doesn't mean I don't appreciate them, I really do!_

_Thank you big style to __**Lily Moonlight **__and __**chiroho **__for the beta-ing of this chapter, and have a read of __**chiroho**__'s other fic 'Choose Your Own Adventure' for some good ole HP fluff and mentions of strip poker!_

_Enjoy the chapter and Episode 100, and I should be updating on Friday, probably the morning again._

_Need I say that reviews are loved, cherished and read several times when the muse has a coffee break?_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'The night walked down the sky with the moon in her hand.'  
- Frederick L. Knowles

Chapter 25

The sight of Rossi in an apron was not one that was going to be forgotten by anyone present, that Emily was sure of. It was a blue and white striped affair, a splatter of what looked like a red wine sauce across the front and something unidentifiable at the top. He looked to be in his element as he strode out of the kitchen, a large pot in his hands and a smile across his face as broad as the Sahara.

"Lamb shanks a la Rossi," he said, putting the pot on the mats in the middle of the table. "Veggies are on their way." He sat down in the spare chair, still smiling.

"It smells good, Dave," Hotch said, leaning forward and removing the lid. Emily smelt rosemary and rich stock and sighed. She was hungry. The debriefing had lasted longer than usual, mainly because Hotch and Morgan had decided to go through some of the information Morgan had taken from his preliminary interview with Baker.

"Can I get you some, Emily?" she heard Hotch ask, and realised he'd taken the job of dishing out supper. He was still in his suit, which still looked as if it had just been pressed, whereas her clothes looked wrinkled and ready for the laundry.

"Thanks, Hotch," she said, taking the plate he passed to her that was laden with tender meat and vegetables. Her stomach rumbled and she saw him smile. "I can't help it. I'm starving."

His eyes danced as he sat back down, his own plate full as well. The rest of the team were talking amongst themselves, Jolene and Detective Winters either side of Rossi. She and Hotch weren't being watched, even by Garcia, who had conjured up a very large smile every time she had caught Emily's eye. "Me too, and I hate to say it, but this looks good."

She smiled. "Exactly how much of it do you think Dave's done? He didn't get back here until six and a meal like this is usually left to cook for at least four hours..." she raised her eyebrows at him. "I think Jolene is letting him take credit here."

Hotch nodded, his first mouthful now ingested. "I think we should let him have his moment," Hotch said, eyeing her. She saw a glint there, one normally reserved for moments of laughter with Jack. "Thank you, Dave," Hotch said above the general chatter. Emily saw Rossi looking a little concerned. "This meal you've thrown together is superb."

Morgan laughed. "Yeah, Rossi, you should definitely have us all round for dinner one night after work."

Emily chuckled at the look on Rossi's face, looking rather like a child who had just been caught stealing a painting from someone else to pass off as his own. "Hey, you know, I helped. It's more than you guys have done!"

"He did do most of the preparation," Jolene said. "And it is his recipe."

"See!" Rossi said, pointing his fork in Jolene's direction and spraying gravy across the table. "You group of non-believers! Cooking is therapeutic, especially after a day like today."

The mirth dimmed in volume as fresh memories of the day were recalled. "We did well today," Hotch said, no longer needing to raise his voice. "And there's no reason why we shouldn't relax tonight."

Because tomorrow, Emily knew, they had another dragon to fight. Or in this case a pair of dragons.

"To team work," Rossi raised his glass of whisky in a toast. "And to a successful tomorrow."

"I'll drink to that," Morgan said, and clinks echoed around the room, the laughter resuming and the sounds of forks and knives hitting plates creating a homely feeling. It was pleasant, as long as she didn't think too much about what tomorrow was going to bring.

"Excuse me," she heard Hotch say as he stood up, his cell in his hand. Emily wondered who it was; Haley maybe, with Jack, or, God forbid, Strauss. She watched him walk out of the dining room, toward the bar area.

"You're drooling," a little voice sounded in her right ear.

Automatically, she picked up her napkin and dabbed at her mouth, then turned with indignation to JJ. "I am so not," she said, trying to keep her voice low so the others wouldn't be alerted to JJ's inference.

JJ laughed. "No, but it was pretty close to that. Garcia says you've got a date tonight."

Emily closed her eyes and wished she was Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz and could just click her heels and disappear off somewhere else. "It isn't a date. We're having coffee later."

"So if it's not a date, what is it?"

"Eat your dinner before it goes cold," Emily said, not even wanting to consider the answer to JJ's question.

"Em, the food is so hot, I've just blistered my mouth. I'm letting it cool. And unless you want me to open up this discussion to the rest of the table, I suggest you explain the context of your _date_."

"You really mean that, don't you?" Emily said.

JJ nodded, smiling sweetly.

"I took him a flask of coffee over to the motel last night to help with the cold. He said he'd return the favour tonight and I said 'so it's a date then' and that was it," Emily said, hoping that it would be enough to encourage JJ to return to her dinner. She sent a pleading look over to Will, who was assisting Henry with his dinner. He gave her a knowing grin and shrugged, leaving her to face the jaws of the lion.

"And _that was it_?" JJ said. "What did he say after you said that?"

"Nothing – that was when Garcia transfigured next to us," Emily sighed. "I was perfectly calm about all of this until your inquisition."

JJ sat back in her seat and Emily noticed Hotch's re-entrance. He still looked fairly relaxed, so she knew the call had been nothing bad, or Strauss.

He sat back down and looked at her plate. "I thought you were hungry?" he said. "I expected you to have finished yours and be at least half way through mine." His volume was low and his tone deadpan, as dry as a drought.

"JJ was monopolising me," she shot JJ a glare, but it went unheeded. She was too engaged with Henry. "Your call was nothing to worry about?" she pried. In previous months, years in fact, such querying would have been met with a surly silence, or a protestation that she was interfering. In the past few months, she'd been able to ask those questions and he'd opened up more to her. Not completely, but he'd begun to share a little more of himself.

"It was the hospital," he said. Her expression changed to one of concern. "No, don't worry. Both Carla and Sophie are doing fine, and that was what they called to say. Carla's legs are being operated on tomorrow, and the mayor is being discharged. We'll have to go and see him at some point."

Emily nodded, feeling relieved. "The hospital doesn't usually call," she said, pulling off a bit of meat from the bone as she spoke.

"I rang them earlier and asked them to give me an update on how the girls were doing. I thought you'd want to know," he said, beginning to tuck back in to his own meal. Laughter pierced the air, Garcia's laughter, and by the sounds of it, poor Reid was being mocked.

"Thank you," Emily said. "Have you spoken to Jack?"

Hotch's face brightened and he nodded, swallowing. "I called him after I'd spoken to the doctor. I should have had him tonight. I apologised and he just said that he knew I'd been out saving people and it was okay. For all of Haley's faults, she's never tried to turn him against me, and she could have done that quite easily, although I do think he'll be disappointed one day when he finds out I don't wear a red 'S' on my chest for work."

Emily smiled, scooping up the buttery mashed potato with some of the gravy. "When he's old enough to realise that, he'll be old enough to understand your job more," she said. "Will you get to see him when we get back?"

Hotch glanced at her, pausing with his fork. "I don't know. Haley's going to go and spend a week or so with her sister, so if we get back while she's away, and then get another case, it might be another fortnight."

She placed her hand on his arm, forgetting that the others were there and she was under scrutiny by at least two of them, and probably a third. "Take some pictures for him of the area. It is really pretty here, especially with all the Halloween decorations that have been hung up. You could get Garcia to upload them onto a web page for him, and at least he'd be able to see some of the nicer things that you get to see, and get some insight into the places that you go," she suggested.

Hotch nodded. "It's a good idea. I'd just have to persuade Haley that there's nothing on it connected with the content of my job," he said, a little ruefully. "But if we get time before we leave, I'll do that."

"Hey, Hotch," Rossi called out. "Are you and Emily intending on keeping what's left to yourself, or would you care to pass the pot up this end?"

She saw Hotch roll his eyes before standing up and passing it to Rossi, who seemed to be doing a very good job of keeping Jolene and her sister entertained. Reid was explaining something to JJ to do with a child's ability to learn language and the stage that Henry was at, while Morgan was pretending that Henry was a plane and was darting him about the room in a way that was sure to make him regurgitate his meal.

"Morgan's going to learn the hard way," Hotch said, sitting back down. "And this dinner is becoming anything but civilised. You want to take a walk?"

She glanced around the room again. Everyone bar Rossi had finished eating, and it was dissolving into a melee of sorts. "I could do with some fresh air," she said. The butterflies had returned and she knew a faint flush had come to her cheeks at his suggestion.

Emily grabbed her coat from the coat stand on the way out of the dining area, ignoring both JJ's and Garcia's questioning looks. She had absolutely no doubt that they would be discussed and superficially profiled as soon as they were out of earshot.

Hotch followed her, saying nothing until they were outside. A few flakes of snow were still drifting down, but the little town looked infinitely brighter than it had done that morning. The town was celebrating in a quiet way – two of its daughters finding their way home. Moonlight glinted on the snow, a thin cloud offering a faint veil as a stronger breeze blew.

"It's a beautiful night," Emily said as they walked away from Jolene's toward the path to the lake. They hadn't discussed where to go, and neither seemed to be leading, they had both just naturally begun to walk in that direction.

Hotch nodded, glancing up at the stars that could be seen between the clouds. "I wonder how the town will move on from this," he said. "Especially when they learn more about the missing men."

"I'm not sure how much of a difference that will make. Men are different to young girls. They're not seen as being as vulnerable, as much in need of protection. I think the town will be too preoccupied in coping with what's happened to deal much with its next chapter. Besides, it's Halloween soon; real life events will be put alongside stories of ghouls and goblins."

"A little bit of unreality," Hotch said. They had come to a halt, the lake in front of them with its ice twinkling under the gaze of the moon. "Want to take a seat?" Hotch gestured to the bench facing the lake, its wooden seat deep in snow.

Emily laughed, the sound cutting through the late autumn silence, and began to sweep snow of the bench, her hands becoming cold and wet. Then she felt a wet ball of snow hit her on the side of her face and turned to see Hotch looking naughtily guilty, his hands in his pockets.

She gave him a mock glare, sweeping more snow off the bench and grabbing a handful without him seeing. Her aim was good and she hit him directly on the nose. The expression on his face declared war, and she began to pelt him with more snow, too quickly to even make the balls fully formed.

He aimed back, his shots on target, clearly using the same amount of precision as he did when shooting at a suspect. She dropped her head, collecting snow. Looking back up, she saw that her temporary foe had disappeared, only to feel a handful of snow being pushed down her back.

"Urgh," she said, turning round to see her boss having morphed into a thirteen year old schoolboy. "Who are you and what have you done with Aaron Hotchner?"

He sat down on the bench, looking warily at her and keeping a good arm's length away. She chuckled, regarding him with interest. The couple of minutes of high spirits had left them with a hangover and Hotch appeared to be retreating into a more sombre mood.

"I'm sorry – I got a little carried away, I shouldn't have..." he said, looking almost mortified.

She shook her head, her eyes still shining. "Hotch, it's okay, it's called fun and it's fine to have some now and again."

He looked down at the snowy ground, and she discreetly dropped the snowball she had prepared to enact her revenge. The moment had passed. "I haven't acted like that in...years," he said, as if confessing to a priest.

"Why not?" she said, moving closer to him, her trousers feeling wet against her skin, and her back smarting as her skin warmed up from being numb with the snow.

"Because I'm forty three years old and hold a management position in the FBI," he said, irony in his voice. "And that's a pathetic excuse, really."

She nodded. "And you're still beating yourself up because you think you failed at something. You want the team to respect you so you never let your guard down, and don't worry – none of them saw that happening," she stopped, knowing that she was doing what she'd done on their first night in Calverville Point. "Sorry, Hotch. I don't mean to give you a lecture. But it's nice to see you smiling." She reached for his hand, a gesture she would have made to anyone in that position.

"It's nice to smile," he said, as if it were a big admission.

"And you have been doing more recently," she said, feeling his hand move and his thumb intertwine with her fingers. She froze, concerned that if she so much as moved a sinew, she would scare him away like a frightened deer.

He turned his head, looking at her intently. "And why do you think that is?"

She smiled silently, averting her eyes from his. "What do we do?" she said, looking back up. It was still unsaid; they were avoiding any words of desire or interest, both still too scared.

"We can talk more," he said, his tone sounding more assured. "I'll stop calling you Prentiss. Maybe we can go for dinner one night when we get home?" His eyes were questioning, still unsure.

She nodded. "Friends?" she said, testing, dipping a toe in water that could be icy.

His laugh was unheard, but she saw it. "If that's what you want to call it. If it needs a label."

She looked at him with mock severity. "It probably has a label already!" She leaned against the back of the bench, figuring she couldn't get much wetter from the dampness that was there.

"Has Dave said something to you?" Hotch said, raising an eyebrow.

Emily shook her head. "No, but I'm assuming that he has said something to you?" She debated saying something about JJ and Garcia's interrogation, but figured that it might scare him away.

"He hinted at something, but I think I took it in a different way than it was meant," he paused, staring at her. "You look cold. We should get back to the motel." He stood up, a movement akin to retreating into his shell, but she understood. They had confirmed that they were on the same page, possibly even the same line, but this book would have to be read slowly.

They walked back to the motel slowly, still taking in the scene around them, and glancing up at the stars which were now completely uncovered, the snow having ceased. "There's going to be one hell of a frost in the morning," she said. "Thank God we found Carla and Sophie when we did. They wouldn't have survived another night in these conditions."

"You did well today," he said, almost inaudibly. "It took some guts stepping in like that."

She smiled. "It's what we do. You've done the same thing a hundred times before."

"But it doesn't hurt to tell you that you did good," he said, and she felt a hand against the small of her back as they approached the motel, a gentle pressure that reaffirmed the words they hadn't been able to say.

Garcia was sat in the lounge as they walked through, her head bobbing up from her knitting. "Hey, you two," she said. Emily stopped, knowing that scuttling to her room, however wet her back was now feeling, was not a good idea. Garcia would either assume she was upset or trying to smuggle Hotch into her bed, and neither would make for pleasant rumours. "Where've you been?"

Emily stepped closer, noticing Morgan slouched down, untangling knotted wool. He raised an eyebrow at her, then at Hotch. "We went for a walk to the lake," she said, refraining from adding the words _and Hotch stuffed a snowball down my back._

Garcia smiled. "Just the two of you?" she said, eyeballing Hotch. Emily glanced at him, and was surprised that he wasn't scowling or looking bleak. He actually looked relaxed, if a little cold.

"And what have you and Derek been up to?" Emily said. "How have _the two of you_ been occupying yourselves?"

"_Touché_," Garcia said, her needles beginning to click rapidly and she gave Emily one very knowing look before focusing on her knit one purl one.

Morgan gave a muffled yawn and stood up. "You're all unknotted, baby girl," he said. "And I'm off to bed."

"Good night, then, sweet cheeks," Garcia said, absorbed by what she was doing. Emily knew that this was a way to tie up the day, that the knitted piece was a woven mass of memories, the different threads of colour a way of preserving what had been lost. Memorialised. A way of coping.

"Hotch," Morgan said. "You walking to the rooms? Mind if I have a word."

"Sure," Hotch said. "I'll see you in the morning, Garcia... Emily."

She gave him a smile as he looked at her, then she wondered what Morgan wanted him for. It couldn't be about the case; otherwise he would have said it in front of them, especially as there was no one else in the lounge. "Alright, Garcia. Spit!" she said, demanding, as soon as Morgan and Hotch were out of earshot.

"Huh?" Garcia said, her eyes at their dramatically innocent best.

Emily sat down next to her, then gently but firmly took hold of the knitting needles. "Tell me what Morgan is saying to Hotch, else this piece of finery gets mashed!"

Garcia looked almost scared, then glared, removing Emily's hand from the needles and placing them down as far away as she could out of Emily's grasp. "Honestly, my damp princess, I have no idea. He's been quiet since you two left to take your promenade and I can only assume he wants clarification of why you are spending so much time with each other. Aside from that, sugar pips, I do not know."

Emily rolled her eyes and winced at the thought of what Morgan was saying. "Pen, Hotch and I..."

Garcia sat up excitedly, her demeanour changing instantly. Emily was forgiven for touching the knitting. "Hotch and you what?"

The smile turned into a soft laugh. At the age of thirty-seven, she shouldn't be feeling like this, she was sure. "We had a snowball fight," she said quietly. "And we acknowledged that there was something between us – kind of."

"And?" Garcia said. "The outcome of this acknowledgment is – that Penelope gets to buy a new hat?"

Emily shook her head. "Pen," she said, warningly. "We said we'd do something when we got back, talk more. It's small steps, you know it has to be. For both of us." She glanced over to where Hotch and Morgan had disappeared. "I just hope Morgan doesn't make Hotch think too much about it."

Garcia shook her head hard enough that her glasses fell to the end of her nose. "You know Hotch better than that, Princess. He will have thought long and hard about what he's said, or not said, tonight. And when have you ever known him change his mind without reason? I doubt Derek's trying to do any damage. He's probably trying to make sure that Hotch's intentions are good and pure."

Emily stood up, the cold dampness on her back now a warm one. "And he may not have even wanted to speak with Hotch about that. It could be something else entirely."

"You keep on thinking that, if it gives you sweet dreams," Garcia said, her needles beginning to click again.

Emily left her to it, rolling her eyes upward as she went back to her room to defrost and dry-out.

"Hotch," Morgan said as they walked down the corridor toward their rooms. "The two UnSubs – I think we're overlooking something."

Hotch exhaled with relief. He'd expected something about his and Emily's exit from the dinner. This he could handle. "What is it?"

"We think the male's job has given him some access to our investigation, but what if the female's has too?" Morgan stopped outside Hotch's room.

"What are you trying to say?" Hotch said, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as Morgan's words affected something in his subconscious.

"I think she's aware of what we're doing too. And if she is, what would be a better trophy that an FBI agent?" Morgan said, his eyes showing a level of worry that Hotch hadn't seen before.

"Do you have someone in mind, Derek?" Hotch said quietly.

Morgan shook his head. "No, I don't. I just think we need to be careful." He took his room keys out of his pocket and jangled them, still in thought. "Goodnight, Hotch. I'll see you in the morning."

Hotch nodded, turning to his own door. "'Night, Morgan."

"Oh, and Hotch?"

He looked at Morgan.

"Nice work with Emily."

Hotch nodded, saying nothing, but he couldn't help the smile that formed, and he wasn't sure he wanted to anyway.

He was just about to enter his room when a familiar voice called his name. "Emily?" he said, consciously using her first name as promised.

"Was everything okay with Morgan?" she said. He noticed that she looked a little apprehensive, that she was concerned Morgan had said something that would undo their earlier discussion.

"It was fine. He was concerned that the female UnSub may target one of us," he said. "Was Garcia okay?"

She nodded, pausing at her own door. "Coffee in the morning?" she said. "You still owe me."

He nodded, taking the moment to stare at the slight chip on the wooden door and avoiding her gaze. He felt if he looked at her, he would do something that they both would regret, but the sight of her was already imprinted on his retina; the tightness of her jeans and sweater, the dampness from his childish lapse making the material cling closer to her. Her hair had curled naturally and her eyes shone. He didn't want to stay on his own tonight, not now he knew that his feelings – whatever they were – were reciprocated.

"Coffee in the morning," he repeated. "White, one sugar, medium strength."

He did look to her now and saw her smile, her eyes slightly shy. "'Coffee is the best thing to douse the sunrise with,'" she quoted at him. "Drew Sirtors."

"I can think of other things," he said, his tone only slightly suggesting what he actually meant.

She tipped her head to one side, her tongue unconsciously licking her lips. "I heard bagels are good too." The light in her eyes twinkled mischievously as she slipped inside her bedroom. Hotch entered his, wondering exactly what they had let out of Pandora's box.

* * *

_What's your favourite episode?_

_Please review!_

_Sarah x_


	26. Chapter 26

_Thank you for the reviews, and belated happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers, and I'd like to say Eid Mubarak also!_

_Thank you to __**Lily Moonlight **__for the beta._

_Credit to John Donne, as I pinched one of his lines from Sun Rising._

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'A cup of coffee commits one to forty years of friendship.'  
- Turkish Proverb

Chapter 26

The sun had not yet called through windows and curtains, and had certainly not chided any late school-boys, by the time a quiet knock sounded on Emily Prentiss' door. She was already showered and dressed, going through the notes they had made yesterday before the search for Carla and Sophie had started, refreshing her memory of the small details that could make a difference.

A faster beat began to pound in her chest as she went to the door, knowing who her early morning visitor was. She wiped her hands down her suit pants and glanced at her reflection in the mirror as she passed. Her appearance was never at the top of her priorities, but given that Hotch may just be noticing, she didn't want to have toothpaste still round her mouth, or her mascara to have smudged around her eye when she had rubbed her eyelid before it was dry.

"Coffee?" Hotch said, holding a steaming large mug toward her. "Milk, one sugar. Medium strength." She took hold of the handle and gestured for him to enter her room. "I figured you'd already be up."

She nodded. She didn't need much sleep. Six hours did it nicely; much longer than seven and she would develop a migraine and today she'd woken naturally at five am and had no problem getting out of bed. Had she not have had six hours sleep, arising would have been painful and Hotch would have been drinking two mugs of coffee, or wearing one. "Anyone else awake?" she said as he sat down on the bed that she'd already made. He'd given her the duvet back and she'd fallen asleep last night inhaling the combined scents of her perfume and his aftershave. It had distracted her from sleep at first, but then it had become soothing, and tiredness had won over.

"No sign of any life. Have you been back through the files?" he said, looking at the vanity unit which she'd been using as a desk.

She sat down next to him, taking a quick drink of the hot coffee and almost scalding her mouth. "I was seeing if we'd missed anything," she shrugged, resting the mug on her knee. "We haven't. We've been through everything on every possible suspect for the female UnSub. The five we have it narrowed down to hit every point of our profile. The only thing I would suggest we did would be to get these women in for questioning, using the line that we think they have seen something that would be useful rather than treating them as suspects."

Hotch was looking at the carpet, his elbows resting on his thighs. He nodded, the gesture barely noticeable. "I think you're right," he said, looking back up. "We have very few paths to take on this case. If the UnSubs are aware of what we've been doing, they will know that we will now be focusing on them now we've caught Baker."

"This could be the prime opportunity to let Rossi partake in one of his favourite pastimes," she said, maintaining the hold his eyes had on hers. He raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Coffee shop reviewing."

"Really?" Hotch squinted at her, her new fact enough to distract him from the case.

"Really," she nodded in conformation. "He used to keep a little notebook that rated the service, the coffee and the general cleanliness."

He looked at her warningly.

Emily laughed, maybe a little too loudly considering the early hour. "I had you there, didn't I?"

He gave her a dry smile, almost as if he was trying desperately to show disapproval, but his eyes showed his failure. "You have another point there though. How about you and JJ go out for a coffee tour of Calverville Point; see if you can find someone who looks like our UnSub, or ask around for information."

"And what are the rest of you going to do?" she said, feeling that somehow, she and JJ were going to have the better end of the deal.

"Start where we would have if we hadn't been hunting Baker. Rossi and Morgan are going to speak with the missing men's families. Reid and I are going to form a geographical profile; maybe get out and explore now the roads are clearer once we've narrowed it down."

She passed him the file from the vanity unit before he'd asked for it, the collection of notes that they had complied before they'd gone to Wells' hunting lodge. "Is there any news on Wells?" she said, knowing that the hunt for him wouldn't have ceased."

"Garcia is monitoring his card usage. As soon as he resurfaces we'll be on him. If he's still alive," Hotch said, flicking through the notes.

"You think Baker may have killed him?" she said, semi-surprised.

"It's a possibility," he lifted his coffee to his lips. He didn't drink much of it, she had noticed, preferring water instead. She supposed it was because of the addiction, the funny reliance on caffeine that most of them had. It was almost a pretend addiction, non-serious, an alliance, but a need all the same, and Emily had noticed that he fenced himself off from anything that could be considered a dependence. You could lose too much over them, be hurt too badly, scalded. She looked at him, wondering what it was that had made him so. Few men married their childhood sweetheart. Most men had had a string of relationships before they settled down, had experimented, experienced. He hadn't. She wanted to know why, but there were no questions that would yield those answers.

"Rage," she said. "We know he tried to attack Carla and Sophie stopped him. He would have felt anger." Their eyes met and she almost felt her pupils dilate, such was the ferocity of the connection. What had provoked it, she didn't know, couldn't put her finger on it at that moment in time.

"If he emerges, " Hotch said, looking away, his thumb pushing down the folded corner of the file. "Garcia will know, and we'll have him."

Emily moved closer to him, feeling her chest expand with the increasing beat of her heart. "We need to interview Sophie and Carla at some point. I know it could be one of the locals that do it, but..."

"You'll be visiting the girls later," Hotch said. "Take JJ and do it then. I'll let Winters know." He looked to the window, the curtains already opened. No snow was falling, but last night's moon was now shrouded in a cloud, its face hidden.

Their silence was fractured by a frantic knock at Hotch's bedroom door and Morgan's voice calling Hotch's name. They exchanged a glance as they both stood, the cloud thickening, fogging the room as well as the moon.

Hotch opened Emily's door, and Emily heard the anxiety in Morgan's tone as he spoke. There was no question of why the boss was in her room before six in the morning, instead he spoke with dread, with fear.

"Hotch, man," he said. "Reid didn't come back to his room last night. He's not answering his cell. Hotch – he's not there."

They walked out of the motel to the station, oblivious to the snow and the frost that had iced it, oblivious to the cold and soft light of a breaking dawn, whose echo resonated against the crystal flecks around them.

Hotch felt as if he had become made of some newly made igneous rock, his expression set, but the fire inside had not yet cooled. He glanced at his watch: Rossi would be up, JJ would also be awake with Henry. Did he call them? Not yet, not until they had established some facts.

"Morgan," Hotch said. "When did you last see him?"

"He said he was going to Katie's for a coffee. That was about ten pm, just before me and Garcia went back to the motel. Hotch, she almost fits the profile," Morgan said.

"You said _almost_," Emily said. "She fits the age and appearance, but she doesn't fit the job. And we don't know about her background." Hotch saw her expression change, the warning signs that she and Morgan were about to battle.

"I checked her out. She was in care between the ages of twelve and sixteen before being adopted by her grandparents," Morgan said. "The only thing that doesn't fit is that she doesn't work in a diner or coffee house."

Emily shook her head; Hotch remained silent. "I'm not buying it Morgan. Really. She isn't a serial killer."

Morgan shrugged his shoulders. "Then where's Reid?"

They entered the work room, a low light on in the corner. Hotch looked at it – he'd been the last out and he could swear he'd switched everything off. "Let's sit down. Morgan, try Reid's cell again." He began to make fast plans, not letting the feeling of panic rear its head.

"No answer," Morgan said, putting his own phone on the desk.

Emily hadn't sat, she was standing near the window, looking out. "There are fresh footprints outside that aren't ours," she said. She turned around, her eyes gleaming. "One of us should go outside and check them."

The three of them turned around as the door between their meeting room and the bullpen opened.

"You'll find that their mine... what's the matter with you guys? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Hotch felt the air that had been festering in his lungs since Morgan had knocked on his door empty, then turned his attention to Emily's victorious expression. She was going to make Morgan eat his words at some point, and it wouldn't be pretty.

"Where the hell have you been?" Morgan said, standing up. "Where's your cell?"

Reid checked his pockets, looking as if he had just been dropped on a different planet with no clear instructions to follow. He pulled his cell out of his pocket and looked at it, his mouth forming a perfect 'o'. "The battery must have died. I'm sorry – were you guys trying to get in touch with me? You know, this battery's meant to have a fifty hour life when it's just on stand-by. I must have used it for about twenty minutes since it was last charged, so..."

"Shit, Reid, where have you been? We thought you were this crazy couple's next vic?" Morgan's voice rose. Hotch watched the interchanged with something that could be called amusement.

"I... I... I don't want to say..." Reid began to fluster, pressing his fingers together, his feet shifting. It was like watching two cats prepare to fight, or rather one to fight and the other to take flight.

"Reid," Emily said, her tone calmer, more direct. "You have the same clothes on as yesterday. I can smell perfume. You stayed at Katie's. You're cell died and you didn't notice because you were too preoccupied." She looked at Morgan, her body language that of a teacher reprimanding a silly pupil. "Okay, Derek. You now know Reid's fine, so I suggest you sumo."

Morgan creased his brow at her. "Sumo?"

"Yeah," Emily said, pulling out a seat and sitting down. "Sumo. It stands for shut up and move on. Heed the advice. Reid, I suggest you go and get changed and have a shower, otherwise I'll hum Placebo's 'Nancy Boy' at you all day."

Reid looked almost vacantly at her, as if trying to grasp some alien reference.

"Go, before you find out the hard way!" she said. Reid gave them one last look and scuttled.

Morgan looked at Emily, his fear had faded from his face. "I would have thought that Placebo were after your time," he said.

"I was in Britain when the song was released. My mother was there and it was a chance to visit a place I didn't know too well. And I would have thought that song was completely out of your repertoire, Derek," she said, avoiding elaboration by batting the ball back over to him.

He shrugged. "Sister had a French boyfriend who modelled himself on the lead singer guy. Fortunately , he didn't last," Morgan looked from her to Hotch. "I'm sorry – it was a wild goose chase. I shouldn't have leapt to conclusions."

Hotch shook his head. "You did the right thing. It could have been. That was enough."

He saw Morgan look towards Emily. "I agree with Hotch," she said, and Hotch saw Morgan relax a little more. "And I won't tell Reid what you thought."

Morgan nodded. "Thanks, Emily," he said. Then he looked from her to Hotch and back again, his eyes narrowing and his lips parting slightly. Hotch could almost see the sentence being formed. "So what were you doing in Prentiss' room?"

"Going through the files, Derek," Hotch said, picking one of the brown folders up and staring at him across it. "And like Emily said, shut up and move on."

* * *

"Okay," JJ said, looking at the seat she was about to place her freshly pressed suit on with some trepidation. "Diner number one. How much caffeine do you think we can ingest before we end up with insomnia?" She tentatively took hold of the menu and glanced down it. "I think I'll by-pass breakfast here and stick with a cappuccino."

She handed the grubby menu to Emily, who placed it straight down on the table. "I'm with you." Emily looked around them, trying to catch the eye of the waitress who had nothing better to do than file her nails, thankfully away from the food. "Somehow, I think this will be a fleeting visit."

"What would you like?" the waitress said as she reached their table, looking slightly disgruntled at her manicure being interrupted.

"Two cappuccinos," JJ said, trying to maintain eye contact, which was difficult to say the least. "We're with the FBI, ma'am, and were wondering if you could help us at all?"

The waitress looked up from scrawling down their order. "You caught the psycho, right? So how can I be of any use?"

"We're looking to track down a girl we think may be able to help us further," JJ said, letting the waitress think she was still talking about the first case, and not the missing men. "She's attractive and from out of town. In her twenties, and is quite bright but never left high school. She comes across really well, but she may be a bit deceptive – lies, possibly steals... she has been working in a cafe or diner, and usually does a Tuesday or Wednesday shift." There was a flicker of recognition in the woman's eyes, and she put her pen and pad down on their table.

"I know who you mean," she said. "A girl like you described used to work here a couple of years ago. Annabel. She was a sly one. Great with the customers, or so Kyle – the owner – thought. Then we started getting complaints about wallets being stolen and things going missing. We sussed out that it was her, and Kyle tried to fire her, but she threatened him with a sexual harassment suit if we did. It carried on, and Kyle went to the police. They never followed it up, but Annabel handed her notice in the day after. We didn't complain."

"Do you know if she's working anywhere now?" Emily said, narrowly avoiding a pool of ketchup when she rested her elbow on the table.

The waitress nodded. "As far as I know she's working at Calverville Coffee House. She keeps herself to herself. In all the time she worked here – around two years – I didn't learn a thing about her. I don't even think Annabel's her real name," she looked at them, her hands now in her pockets. "Ladies, why don't you go sit over there where I've cleaned the tables? I'll bring you your drinks over. This side of the place is a mess – the cleaner didn't show this morning – and if you move you elbow anymore, lady, you're going to start running up a dry-cleaning bill."

JJ smirked as Emily lifted her arm up with a jump. "Make the most of the caffeine," she said. "There may only be one more stop after this."

Emily nodded. "It sounds promising. What the waitress has described definitely fits the profile. Let's see if we can get a surname." She waited until the two drinks had been brought over and then asked.

"Palmer," the waitress said. "Annabel Palmer. Said she was twenty, but I never believed her. Thought she was older. Didn't believe much that she said, to be honest. You know where Calverville Coffee House is?"

JJ nodded. "I've been there already."

"Well, these are on the house. But don't be telling no one; they'll think I've gone soft in my old age," she said, turning around and wandering over to the side of the cafe where they had first sat, pulling a mop with her.

"When were you there?" Emily said, sipping at the cappuccino.

"The first day, with Rossi and Detective Winters. You and Hotch were looking at dumping sites with that weird officer. In fact, I think might have even been Annabel who was our waitress," JJ said. "I'll call Garcia, see what she can find." She pulled out her cell from her purse, a small teddy falling out with it. She placed it back, noticing Emily's half hidden smile. "Penelope?"

"This is oracle of Calverville. How may I be of assistance this fine morning, my lump of blonde sugar?"

JJ raised her eyebrows at Emily. "Garcia's greetings," Emily said quietly. "As good as caffeine at getting the brain ticking."

"We have a name, but it may be false. Annabel Palmer. Can you let Hotch know? We're heading over to where she works shortly."

"I'm on it, peach blossom. Is Emily with you?" Garcia said. "If she is, can you put her on?"

JJ handed her phone over to Emily, shrugging her shoulders and giving her a questioning look.

"Penelope?" Emily said. "Is anything the matter?"

JJ watched Emily roll her eyes. "Everything was okay; Morgan did say anything." There was a small laugh. "Let me know then, if you hear anything." Emily ended the call and passed the cell back to JJ. "I thought Morgan was going to make things awkward between me and Hotch, and Garcia just wanted to know what was said," she explained, picking up the cup and downing what was left.

JJ copied her, standing up and pulling on the thick coat. "You realise that you've gotten out of this grilling about yours and Hotch's disappearance last night?"

Emily nodded, smiling broadly. "Sometimes, serial l killers really can do you a favour." They walked out, back into the snowy street and headed towards their next stop.

* * *

Anyone who happened to be watching Garcia at work would not have been able to see her fingers, just a blur of pale skin and fluorescent pink nail polish zapping about the keyboard. She paused, pushing her glasses further up her nose, and hit the enter key.

"Got you!" she said, pressing print. Annabel Palmer, with all of her glorious details, was otherwise known as Ellen Reeves, one of the half dozen or so names that her team had whittled the suspect list down to.

She stood up, locking her computer and pulled the sheets from the printer. The bull pen was almost empty as she walked through it. Only Katie sat at her desk, filling in paperwork. Garcia gave her a brief smile and debated having a little chat with her about Reid at some point.

"Hotch," Garcia said, pushing open the door to where he and Reid were sat, pouring over a map of the area. A large circle had been drawn on it, various crosses marking the points where the men had last been seen. "JJ and Emily have a suspect. Here are her details." She passed him the sheets, and he began to glance through them.

She knew what he was reading and it wasn't the sort of thing you'd tell as a bedtime story. As a child, Ellen Reeves had been placed into foster care after her mother had committed suicide. The only almost-relative, was her mother's boyfriend, who had also appeared to be her mother's pimp. Ellen appeared to have been a difficult child, which was no surprise given what her early years would have been like, and she was passed from one home to another, never staying anywhere longer than five weeks, after which most reports stated that she was having trouble settling in and stealing from her foster parents, using the money to buy cannabis and ecstasy.

By the age of fourteen, Ellen lived in a care home, one that was notorious three years later for being the centre of several abuse allegations. It was closed down, and several of its workers had faced custodial sentences, but by that time, Ellen was elsewhere, most likely in Rapid City where she shop lifted and mugged in order to earn money for cigarettes and soft drugs. There were no cautions for anything hard, no heroin or cocaine, just lots for assault and theft and possession.

At the age of eighteen she fell off the grid, and that was four years ago. No offenses, no bank accounts, nothing. Even under the name of Annabel Palmer there was nothing, and it was the nothing that meant there was probably something.

Hotch picked his phone up off the table, speaking quietly into it once his call was answered.

"Where are you?" he said. Garcia watched his expression alter at the sound of whoever's voice was on the other end. She was no profiler, but you didn't need to be to interpret that fact that whoever's tones he was listening to affected him on a level other than work. "I'm going to have Garcia send you some information. We need to know where she lives and who with. Is there a man friend who sometimes picks her up from work? Has she ever come into work looking injured – did they ever suspect her boyfriend was physically abusing her. Whatever you can find and as quickly as possible." He hung up, looking over at Reid, and then at Garcia. "Send Emily those details, Morgan too."

Garcia nodded, and although she knew that they were about to encounter yet another psychopath, she couldn't help but feel a little happiness warm her up inside at the way Hotch had looked when he had heard Emily's voice. Sometimes, you just had to grasp on to whatever sunshine you could see.

* * *

_Please review!!_

_Sarah x_


	27. Chapter 27

_Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter. I do appreciate them, although I was a little concerned as not as many people as usual let me know what they thought... I hope this chapter is okay._

_More case now... we're approaching the end (well, we're about six chapters away – ish!)_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'You hate someone whom you really wish to love, but whom you cannot love. Perhaps he himself prevents you. That is a disguised form of love.'  
- Sri Chinmoy

Chapter 27

There were more people in Calverville Coffee Shop than the last place, three or four of them being police officers, getting their breakfast and a last decent cup of coffee before starting their shift. The fact that police were in there wasn't lost on Emily. She glanced over at JJ as they sat down, keeping her voice low. "We profiled that she would be living with a man who has a position of authority, possibly a police officer."

JJ nodded. "That's how the accusation of her stealing was so quickly dealt with. Her boyfriend's a cop." JJ glanced around the room and Emily could tell that she was making a mental note of everyone who was in there.

"This place is popular," Emily said. "Every time we've been passed, it's been busy, whereas other places have been fairly empty in comparison. There's a good chance that all of the men came in here at some point." She stood up. "I'm going to call Hotch. We need to find out who dealt with the complaint about her stealing."

"I'll order. Large coffee?"

"That would be good," Emily said, walking away from the table and nodding to one of the officers who had been with them yesterday when they found the girls.

Outside felt cold, the wind now picking up, its chill dropping the temperature to an almost uncomfortable level. She ducked between two buildings to keep out of the gale, not wanting her conversation with Hotch to be over-heard by the wrong pair of ears.

"Hotch," she said as he answered. "The coffee shop where Annabel works – it's the main police breakfast service. At least thirty percent of its current customers are cops. There was an allegation made at her last place of work, that she was stealing, it was reported to the PD, but no follow up was ever undertaken."

"I'll get Garcia to go through the records," Hotch said, his voice low and calm. She rested her back against the wall and for a second she felt a strange pang, a desire to be able to see him rather than just speak with him on the phone, even though they were probably less than five hundred metres from each other.

"We know there won't be any though, don't we?" she said. "If it was her lover who took the call, there will be no paper trail."

"That will probably be the case, but we need to check anyway. How long ago was the complaint made?" he said, still quiet. Emily figured Winters was in the room with him.

"Two years," she said. "Listen, Hotch, I'm going to go back in with JJ, see if we can get one of the waitresses to talk without giving anything away. As far as I've seen already, Annabel's not there – none of the waitresses match the photo Garcia sent. We'll be back soon."

"Sure," she heard Hotch say. "Take care."

His last words rang in her ear as she stepped out of the alley, realising for the first time its heavy stench of foxes and urine. He had told them to be careful before, it was his role, his job, to make sure that they were okay, but the words had sounded different. Maybe it was because he had said them so quietly, so that no one else could hear; but that was because of the nature of their discussion, not necessarily because he was passing on an illicit message.

She shook herself out of her daydream and re-entered the cafe, spotting JJ sitting with two large coffees and a waitress. She slid into the seat next to JJ, who had paused the conversation, waiting for Emily to get settled.

"This is Paula," JJ said, gesturing to the middle-aged woman. "She was asking how Sophie and Carla are. Paula. This is Agent Emily Prentiss."

Emily shook the woman's hand noticing that she looked a little star struck. That could play to their advantage.

"Sophie and Carla are doing as well as can be expected," Emily said, noticing that JJ sat back a little, letting Emily take centre stage. She knew that there would be a reason for it, and that she'd probably find out later. "Did you know them?"

Paula nodded. "Sophie's been coming in here since she was a little girl. It broke my heart when I heard that he had her. If you see her, tell that Paula'll make her all the chocolate milkshakes she wants for the rest of her life. She's been such a brave little thing."

Emily smiled, agreeing with the woman's last statement. "Have you worked here a long time?" she said, building trust, seeming concerned.

"Since this place opened. It belongs to my sister and her husband," she nodded, glancing away from them, as if recalling memories. "It's a good place. We pride ourselves on our food and coffee – and you can see people like it." She looked round, as if to draw their attention to the popularity of the place.

"How many staff do you employ?" Emily said, wrapping her hand around the coffee. She knew she would need to find a bathroom soon.

"Twenty-four. My nephew and my son do most of the cooking, and then we have two cleaners and twelve waitresses. Not all on at once, obviously. Most of them are part-time, only three are full. We keep our staff too. They like it here, and we treat them well, so they end up staying. Become part of the family," she said, her rosy face flushing. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand and looked glad of the chance to sit down.

"Is there a waitress called Annabel Palmer who works here?" Emily said, sipping her coffee. It was good, rich, without being too strong. Nearly as nice as the coffee Hotch had brought that morning, before the sun rose.

"Annabel? Yes, we do. She's been here about two years. Only does a couple of shifts a week. Nice girl, but very quiet," she looked at them curiously. "Why do you want to know about Annabel?"

Emily took another drink. If she took her time with answering, Paula wouldn't think that the information they were after was urgent. "We think she might be able to help us with our investigation, but you might be able to help us decide if it's worth asking her or not. You see, she might find what we're asking rather traumatic, and we'd rather not upset anyone unnecessarily," she said, sounding at her most concerned.

"Yes, of course. I wouldn't want her to be upset. Oh dear. I do feel for the girl. She seems like she's had a bad life sometimes, but she's so good with the customers; obviously good with the men as she's so pretty, and she takes time with them, time to listen. She does Tuesdays and Wednesdays for me, and those are the days when its quietest so at some points, it's just me and Annabel on," Paula smiled. "Is the coffee good?"

Emily nodded. "Yes, very. Very good. Does Annabel have a boyfriend?" she said, then took another drink, trying to appear relaxed. She could see JJ out of the corner of her eye studying what was going on behind them. She looked a little concerned, and Emily decided that she needed to try to hurry the information out of Paula a little.

"I think so. She sometimes mentions going out, and I assume it's with a man. She usually talks to someone on her cell during her breaks too, and gets a few messages, so I think she has a boyfriend," Paula looked puzzled.

Emily tried to smile with as much reassurance as possible. "Do you have an address for her? We may not need to get in touch, but just in case we do."

"Oh, I'm not sure," Paula thought for a moment. "She moved shortly after starting work here, and I don't think she updated her details. She did live at number 13 Appletree with two other girls, but I have a feeling they didn't get along. I have her mobile number. Occasionally I've called her to ask if she can do an extra shift if someone's off, but she usually says no."

"Why doesn't she take them?" Emily said. "I would have thought she could've used the extra money."

Paula shrugged, pulling out her own cell. "I don't know, Agent Prentiss. I think she may work somewhere else as well. She is very rigid with her shift patterns. Here," she pushed her cell toward Emily. "That's the number I have for her."

Emily glanced down, at the phone, pulling out her own cell. She quickly opened up a new message and sent the number to Garcia. She knew that it would come back as a disposable. There would be no trace. If Annabel had a contract phone Garcia would have found details for it by now.

"Thank you, Paula. Like I said, I don't think we'll need to get in touch, so if you see her, don't mention anything. Best not to worry her," Emily said, draining the last of her coffee.

Paula stood up, the sigh that came from her almost blowing Emily away. "If I can be of any more help, then just let me know," she said. "And now you know where to come for your coffee and snacks," she said. "It was nice to meet you, Agent Prentiss and Agent..." she squinted at JJ

"Jareau," JJ said, shaking the offered hand.

Emily waited until Paula was well out of earshot before turning round to face JJ. "What have you seen?"

JJ swung around so that her lips could not be seen by any of the officers who were still there finishing off their breakfasts. "When you started talking to Paula, one of them seemed to make two of his buddies leave pretty rapidly. I didn't see any faces as they had their backs to us, and they left using the far door." JJ stood up. I'm going to see if I can find out their names. They acted pretty suspiciously." She slid passed Emily. "And if you're wondering why I let you talk, it's because she was asking all about you, seemed to think you were some sort of heroine. Apparently Sophie's mom has been talking about her daughter's rescue."

Emily glared at JJ and wished for a floor opening into which she could be swallowed. She did not like being the centre of attention. Ever. "Brilliant. That's all I need. Morgan will enjoy that if he hears about it."

JJ shot her a grin and walked across the cafe to where a couple of officers were still sat. Emily watched as she acted pleasantly with them, smiling and laughing, and then she saw them shake their heads, and Emily knew that they hadn't noticed.

JJ returned looking frustrated. She picked up her coat and pulled it on. "Not even a hint of a name. The three I spoke to have just come back from the college and are from two towns over. Dead end."

Emily stood too, pulling her own coat on and preparing to brace herself for the cold. "We know where she works and where she used to live. Appletree is just around the corner – let's see if anyone's around. She may have left a forwarding address."

Nodding, JJ made her way to the exit closest to them, passing the door to Emily. The bitter wind outside cut right through her coat and Emily shivered, hoping that this was going to be a quick trip and then they could get back to the station.

The walk to Appletree Avenue took no more than five minutes, the wind blowing at them from behind, pushing them along. The house was new and small in comparison to other on the road, and it looked to be kept in good condition by its owners.

Emily knocked at the door and waited, knowing that there was a good chance no one would be in. She was just about to turn around and walk away when the door was opened, and a small older lady stood there.

"Can I help you?" she asked, bearing some of her weight on a walking stick that looked as if it had been passed down from her great-grandfather.

Emily showed the woman her badge, as did JJ. "I'm Agent Prentiss and this is Agent Jareau. We're with the FBI and we just wanted to ask you a few questions about someone who we think used to live here."

"Oh," was the only response. A small dog ran out, yapping, and Emily noticed JJ take a step back. She wasn't keen on dogs she didn't know and that weren't on a lead. "Get inside, Bernie," she shouted, and the dog yapped once more and darted back in.

"Did an Annabel Palmer used to live here?"

The old lady looked confused. "Annabel? I don't know an Annabel," she paused for a moment, doddering in her choice of words. "This is my son's house and he did used to have girls living here. But then he said I could live here, and he made the girls go. Were you those girls?"

"No, ma'am. But we need to find one of them. Do you have your son's number so we can give him a call?" Emily said.

"Why? What have I done? Am I in trouble?" the lady said.

Emily shook her head, cursing the son for his lack of care. An old lady like this, clearly suffering from dementia, shouldn't be living on her own. "No, you're not in any trouble and neither's your son. We just need to speak with him as he may have some information that can help us."

"Oh. Okay then. I'll just get his number." She turned around and closed the door, Emily hearing it lock shut behind.

"She's not going to get the number," JJ said. "She's going to go inside and forget we've ever been. Poor lady."

"Give her a minute," Emily said. "See if she does remember. If not, we'll have Garcia dig it out. It's a two second job for her, and she's somewhere warm. I don't think I can feel my toes anymore." She shivered a little violently.

They waited a few more minutes until the curtains twitched and the old lady's face appeared. She scowled at them, gesturing with her hand for them to go away, her lips moving to the shapes of four letter words that Emily did not associate with people of that age.

"O-kay," JJ said. "Let's go. I think we need to tell Garcia about this little episode because I definitely don't feel comfortable leaving that woman in that house by herself. If she forgets about the oven being on, or runs just hot water for a bath..." JJ shuddered. "My great grandmother had Alzheimer's disease, and spent the last few years of her life in a wonderful home where they had rooms set out as they would have been at the turn of the century. She remembered everything from her youth, but had no idea who I was when I went to visit. I was only six at the time. I used to think it was because she didn't like me, that she couldn't be bothered to remember."

"Oh, JJ," Emily said. "I'm sure she did like you. Short term memory can be so affected that things like that can happen." She looked over at the other agent, who did look a little saddened by the incident.

"I know now," JJ said, shrugging. "But at that age, I just remember thinking I'd done something horribly wrong."

They walked quickly, Emily feeling a shooting pain up her ankle as she struggled to maintain her footing on the slippery floor. The station had never looked so welcoming, so warm, and as they drew closer, she spotted Hotch standing near the window, probably taking heat from the radiator, and her pulse began to beat a little faster.

* * *

Timothy Hancock's ex-wife sat with her ankles perfectly perpendicular to the sofa, her hands clasped in her lap and skirt dropping down to almost ankle length. Rossi raised a discreet eyebrow at Morgan, communicating his thoughts. Hancock had had an affair, which had led to the breakdown of his marriage, and Rossi could only hope that his ex-wife was in training to be a nun, given what she was wearing.

"Mrs Hancock," he said. "We're here about the disappearance of your former husband, Timothy, and wondered if you could provide us with a little background information on him?"

She looked at Rossi with what he could only describe as hate, and for a moment he wondered exactly how Timothy Hancock may have met his maker. "You'd be better asking _her_," she said with some bitterness. "The other woman. Nina Briscow. 38 Long Street. She could tell you his exact movements, I imagine."

"Mrs Hancock," Morgan said, soothingly. "I can appreciate your distress. We do believe that Timothy has been abducted, and we just want some information about his routines. You'd know more about the ones we're interested in, if you would help us."

Her glare shifted to Morgan. "What do you want to know?" she said, snapping. The legs remained rigidly still, no movement in any of her body, just in her face. Rossi felt sorry for her. She was clearly grieving for the man she had loved, and had turned that love into hate. She was also punishing herself for the failure of her marriage. He wished this was the right moment to speak with her, to tell her that blame just sometimes couldn't be placed, because it truly was no one's fault. Sometimes, people just grew apart, and they had to let go and move on. There was no such thing as true, everlasting love. If you found someone with the same morals as you, the same outlook on life as you, who changed in the way you did as you grew older, then you got lucky. But for others, you took love where you could find it, and enjoyed it for however long it might last. Three painfully expensive divorces had certainly taught him something.

"Did your husband ever go in the Calverville Coffee Shop?" Morgan asked, lowering his torso and resting his forearms on his thighs. He was bringing himself closer to Mrs Hancock in height in the hope it would relax her and make her feel more at ease.

"Yes," Mrs Hancock said. "Most days. He liked the waitresses."

Morgan retained the eye contact he had with her. "Did he ever speak about any particular waitress?"

She shrugged.

"Did you ever go in there with him?" Morgan said, picking up the file that he had laid on the seat next to him.

"I'd sometimes meet him there for lunch as I work nearby."

"Do you remember this woman?" Morgan handed her the photo of Ellen Reeves, otherwise known as Annabel Palmer. They had taken all of the pictures with them, just in case, and after Hotch's brief phone call, Rossi was glad they'd had the foresight. They might actually get somewhere.

Mrs Hancock nodded. "She was always really friendly. Seemed to know a lot about my ex-husband."

Morgan nodded, glancing at Rossi for him to take over. "Mrs Hancock, I have some questions that might be a little awkward, but I'd appreciate you answering them." She stared at him coldly. "When your husband moved out, did he say that his affair was over?"

"Yes, but I didn't believe him. How do you ever believe a liar?" she said, a sadness in her tone that hadn't been there before.

Rossi reached out and placed a hand on hers as she looked away. "Where did he move to?"

"He moved in with his friend Roger as a temporary arrangement. It was Roger who called me a week after Timothy went missing. He'd assumed Tim had come back to me. When I said no, that's when he contacted the police." Her eyes left the floor and met Rossi's, the coldness gone. "You really believe he's dead, don't you?" She began to sob. Rossi passed her a clean handkerchief from his pocket, a legacy from having a cleanliness freak of a mother.

"We know he's missing," Morgan said. "We have no evidence that he's dead, so until we do, if we ever do, we believe he is still alive."

"Can we get someone to sit with you?" Rossi said. "A friend or a neighbour, perhaps?"

She shook her head. "I'd rather be alone, if that's okay." The coldness returned. "You can see yourselves out."

They stood, leaving the lady in her darkened sitting room with tears streaming like rivers down her face and dropping onto a skirt that acted as a shroud for the femininity that she had now disowned.

The car was still warm when they got in it, so brief had been their visit, but Rossi knew they had the information they needed. "We know who it is," he said to Morgan. "It's just a case of finding her now."

Morgan nodded. "And that is not as easy as it sounds. We should head back to base; see what Reid and Hotch have put together."

"Hopefully they know which path to take next. We need something on the male. He's the key," Rossi said, switching on the ignition.

"The key to what though?" Morgan said. "Given what we know, he could easily be the key to some serious fall out if he feels cornered. I have a bad feeling about this, Rossi. A really bad feeling."

* * *

_Please do review, I have a busy week, and I could do with some motivation to write when I get in late!!_

_Sarah x_


	28. Chapter 28

_Thank you thank you thank you for the reviews! You have made me very happy!_

_Sorry I am so behind with replies, but I have been impossibly busy. I will catch up tomorrow – I'm sneaking this up now as otherwise it would have to go up tomorrow!_

_Thank you to Lily Moonlight for the beta!_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'Never apologize for showing feeling. When you do so, you apologize for the truth.'  
- Benjamin Disraeli

Chapter 28

Cats were territorial animals, sticking to places they knew well, places where they could predict the behaviour of other creatures and places that they knew would be good hunting grounds. They were, Reid knew, nature's serial killers, and in some ways they were similar to their human counterpart with regards to territory.

Most serial killers would not venture out of their comfort zone, out of the place that they knew well. They would also avoid killing anyone too close to their home, needing an appropriate distance. Calverville Point proved to be an anomaly when trying to establish a geographical profile: there wasn't that much there, just a town centre with roads and avenues pilling out from it, then fields and grassland and mountains with the odd ranch and house thrown in for good luck.

Reid looked at the map, again, and tried to make some sense of it. Hotch was looking out of the window having finally declared that the map was making his brain implode and he needed to step away for a few moments. The last known whereabouts of the men were in two places: Calverville Point and Calverville Square. The main roads leading west out of both eventually joined, becoming a minor road that travelled through rough grassland that was mainly used for cattle. There were around one hundred and two tracks that led off the road, providing the access to some one hundred and sixty buildings. It was in one of these that Reid figured the killers lived, or used. Garcia was currently putting together a list of the owner's names, which she would then cross reference with police officers in the area.

The answer was not going to appear in front of his eyes like a white rabbit, and going through what they had already established was not going to help make the top hat from which it could appear. He stood up straight and stretched, looking at Hotch whose attention had been caught by something outside. Reid looked in the same direction and saw Emily, noticing that she was limping slightly.

"It looks like she's hurt that ankle again," Reid said, stepping toward the window.

Hotch nodded. "I think she really needs to get it checked out properly. I'm worried she may have actually broken a small bone."

Reid looked at his boss' profile; his expression was stoical as usual, but his eyes contained something new. Hope maybe? It had been so long since Reid had seen any positivity in the man that he had forgotten what it looked like. "Hotch," Reid said, blinking more quickly than usual, which he knew was a subconscious movement when he was anxious about something. "What's going on between you and Emily?"

Hotch turned around as rapidly as if someone had just screamed. "What makes you ask?" he said, an edge to his voice that told of an internal battle still going on.

Reid shrugged. "You slipped away together last night. In fact, slipped away is too subtle a term. You were watching her just now and something's changed between you," he said, squinting as if searching for the word to describe what had altered.

Hotch said nothing and Reid pondered the wisdom of his words, before drawing breath once more. "Hotch," he said, frowning as he conjured the sentences in his head. "If you and Emily have feelings for each other then you shouldn't let being in the BAU stop you from acting on them..."

"We're friends, Reid. Like you and Morgan are friends," Hotch said, his brow creasing. He walked away from the window, not looking at Reid.

Reid followed him back to the table. "Hotch – I certainly don't look at Morgan the way that you look at Emily," he said. "If I did, I think Morgan would have had something to say about it by now."

Hotch stayed silent, almost ignoring him.

"You're so well suited. You're both intelligent, you have a similar level of attractiveness, you share ideals in common and have the same values and you have the perfect understanding of each other's job. You know..."

"Reid," Hotch said, glaring at him. "That's enough."

Reid stopped, his bottom lip still moving slightly. He realised he had pushed his boss too far. "I'm sorry, Hotch, if that was out of line..."

"Reid!"

"I've seen how she looks at you too. Just – be aware of that, Hotch. I don't want you to hurt her." He looked at Hotch, holding his eyes and trying to read what was behind them. Then the door to the conference room opened and Emily entered with JJ. Reid didn't look at them, instead he remained watching Hotch and saw his eyes go straight to Emily.

"Your ankle, Prentiss – you need to get it checked," Hotch said. "When you visit the girls later, get them to x-ray it." His tone was almost too short, and judging by the look on Emily's face, she noticed it too.

"Sure, _sir_," she said, almost staring at Hotch almost with anger.

Reid glanced at JJ and gave her a quick guilty look. She nodded towards the door.

"I think everyone might need a sandwich," she said. "Reid and I will just go get them. I'll ask for the usual."

He pulled his coat off the back of the chair where he'd been sat and left the room hastily, following JJ. Hotch and Emily were still staring at each other, like cats about to have a fight, and he didn't want to be there when the fur started to fly.

"Okay, Spencer," JJ said when they got outside. "What did you say?"

"Nothing... I...I..."

"Spencer -"

"I asked him what was going on between him and Emily. And I might have told him not to hurt her," he winced. "I screwed up, didn't I?" He watched JJ's reaction and was surprised when she laughed.

She placed a gloved hand to the side of her face and smiled. "Oh Reid," she said. "Why couldn't you have asked Emily about it?"

"There _is_ something going on?" Reid said, snow crunching under his feet.

JJ shook her head. "They've both kind of admitted that they have chemistry," she said. "But nothing has _happened_," she smiled again. "Garcia is planning on inventing a case where they have to spend time alone in a locked room. I dare say she'll pull it off."

"Hotch is going to be mad with me, isn't he?" Reid said, staring at his feet. "I thought I was helping."

JJ widened her eyes and shrugged. "You may have. They are now alone in a room together with an elephant that requires more discussion."

The metaphor threw him and he had to think about it. "You mean there's something obvious there that they're not discussing."

She patted him on the shoulder as they entered the delicatessen.

* * *

The silence remained for several more seconds after Reid and JJ had left the room.

A feeling of mortification began to sap away any words, and Hotch looked to the ceiling and bit his lip. "Shit, Emily," he said, unable to look at her right now. He shook his head. "That didn't come out right." He rested his back against the wall, and felt something chewing upon his innards.

He saw her body relax a little, the horrified stance relaxing some. "No, I'd say it came out pretty damn wrong," she said. He felt her eyes on him, searching his face for an answer. "Why?"

"Reid," he said. "He asked me what was going on between us."

"Really?"

Hotch nodded. "And he told me not to hurt you."

"Which you kind of went and did in front of him. Was that to prove a point – that there isn't anything going on between us?" He heard the passion in her voice, saw it in the way she gestured with her arms, and his feet stayed glued to the floor.

"No, no – Emily," he sighed, closing his eyes. He could make up excuses, that he hadn't done this for twenty something years, but that wasn't true; and she probably knew that because he was sure Garcia did. "It was an automatic response. Self preservation."

She tapped her foot on the floor and he recognised the reaction. She was deciding how to react. He watched, silently, waiting, feeling completely without control. And then he realised that the lack of control wasn't bothering him, because it was _her_.

"Hotch," she said eventually. "We said we'd talk more, maybe get dinner and you'd stop calling me Prentiss." Her hands went on her hips. "We acknowledged through the back door that there was something between us that wasn't because we were colleagues, or even friends."

He nodded slowly and she took a step closer. Now, now that she was speaking, he couldn't tear his eyes from her, didn't want to.

"You're my boss," she said, continuing. "Same as you're Reid's and JJ's. But you don't need to treat me any differently than them." Her face was flushed and he realised how difficult she was finding the conversation. "Don't keep me at arm's length because that will draw attention to – to whatever this is."

She took a step back and sat on the table, wincing. She lifted her leg up and pulled off her boot and sock. "My ankle," she said, "it really is hurting. How did you know?"

Hotch sat down on the chair next to her and took her ankle in his hands. It was beginning to bruise and was slightly swollen again. "I could tell by the way you were walking," he said, running his fingers over smooth skin, feeling heat from her run up through his hands into his chest. He needed to feel her skin with his. He willed the rest of the world away, then fought for it back again as he realised the maze he could lose himself in. Did he want to be lost? Was he ready for that? And what about her – would it be fair to let her carry his darkness?

He began to swim in her skin, feeling the rhythm of her pulse sweep him further out to sea, her sea. And he wanted to drown there. He felt her hand brush against his face, and it pulled him back into reality.

"I'll have them look at it later," she said. Her eyes were burning, he saw, mirroring a fire that he knew was in his. He removed his touch, his body turning cold at the lack of contact.

"Make sure you do," he said. He looked at her, more aware than ever of the emotions he had been fighting. "The team – they're all aware of something. Is that okay?"

"I think so," she said quietly. "Is it okay with you?"

He nodded, helping her put her boot back on as Morgan and Rossi came through the door.

* * *

"You don't think I've ruined it for them, do you?" Reid said for what seemed like the millionth time as they walked back across the square toward the station.

JJ shook her head, cursing Hotch not just for being an idiot, but for now being the reason Reid wouldn't let go of this new bone. "No, Spencer," she said. "You won't have ruined anything. At this moment there is nothing to ruin anyway. They haven't gotten their act together yet." She rolled her eyes. At least Reid's conversation, although maybe it was a little one sided to be called a conversation, had taken her mind of the coldness of the wind.

She upped her speed, wanting to get back and eat, and have a hot drink of something that wasn't coffee. Then she realised that Reid had stopped walking, and was stood there, his mouth slightly ajar.

"What is it?" she said, looking in the direction of his stare.

"She's there!" Reid said.

JJ dropped the bag of sandwiches and ran after him, adrenaline kicking in immediately.

"Annabel!" he called. "Annabel Palmer!" JJ was surprised at how fleet-footed he was, running through the thick snow without stumbling. He caught her up before she'd had time to realise who he was, and JJ watched with a strange pride as he took her down swiftly, pulling her down into the soft snow.

JJ was there seconds later, looking at the girl's beautiful face turn sullen as she realised she was caught. "Reid," she said. "Are you okay?"

Reid turned his head, his knee pressing down on Annabel's back, and JJ noticed that he looked rather shocked. "Yeah," he said, nodding. "I'm fine. We should get her to the station though."

"You okay to keep hold?" JJ said, kneeling down in the snow and applying pressure to stop any attempt at wriggling away. She knew that Reid had her securely, but she didn't want to have to face a scenario where the press were asking her why she let a suspect escape.

With her free hand she pulled out her cell and speed dialled Hotch. "We need you. We have Annabel Palmer," she said, before he'd even had chance to say his name. "Outside in the square now." JJ looked about them, surprised that there was no audience, no one to see, just the plastic carrier bag holding their sandwiches, the handles being blown about in the breeze like a flag waving for peace. Most places had opened after the bad weather, but the deep snow had put off the tourists and the place was almost deserted.

Hotch and Morgan came running over, covering the four hundred snow covered metres in seconds. Annabel was struggling again, her hands grasped tightly behind her back, held so that she wouldn't be able to stand.

"I've not done anything," she said, the first words she had uttered since Reid had caught her. "I don't know why you're doing this!"

"Well," Reid said, dragging her to her feet with the aid of Morgan. "You can explain it to us inside."

They surrounded her, walking her to the station with her hands in cuffs, her feet dragging in the snow. She said nothing else, leaving the wind to break the silence.

* * *

Rossi was now facing Annabel Palmer, or at least trying to face her. She had buried her head in her arm and was refusing to look at him, her body seemingly crumpled against the table. Rossi simply sipped at the hot cup of coffee that had been brought in, and looked at the newspaper, apparently oblivious to anything Annabel might do.

There was a window between the interview room and the small room in which Emily, Hotch, Reid and Morgan were now sat. Annabel, Emily was sure, would know that she was being watched, even though she couldn't see them and it would now be Dave's job to break through her silence and find out what he could about her partner.

"You know," Rossi said, folding his paper and placing it down in front of her, the headline about the rescue of the two girls. "It's always strange what attracts us to another person."

Annabel didn't stir, didn't even move. Emily would have thought that she was asleep but for the too rapid breathing shown by the rise and fall of her back and shoulders.

"Sometimes, it's because they're our opposite. Completely different from us. Other times it's because they're our mirror image, and we see something in them that we know is in ourselves, and their similarity reinforces that _we_ are okay.

"So which is it for you, Annabel? How did you pick your lover?" Rossi said, staring at the top of the blonde hair.

There was no answer. Emily hadn't expected there to be. She glanced at Hotch; he was watching what was going on with folded arms, his eyes full of interest. If Annabel's silence continued then she would go in, see if it needed a woman to withdraw the information, and given Annabel's background, it could be that her trust in men had been too far eaten away.

"We know he's a police officer," Rossi said. "We know he works at this station. We know he failed to look into allegations made that you were stealing." He paused. "Is that how you met?"

Annabel looked up, her thumb in her mouth and her eyes red rimmed. She looked young, barely older than Sophie and Emily cursed the history she'd had for damaging her. "I don't want to talk to you," she mumbled.

"Will you talk if it's someone else?" Rossi said, standing up.

"Maybe," she said, glancing at the window.

Rossi nodded and left the room, walking straight round to where the rest of them were. "She's playing games," he said. "It's all about control."

"So do we let her have that control, or does Dave go back in?" Morgan said.

"We let her wait," Hotch said, still watching her through the window. "Then I think we should let Reid interview her."

Emily saw Reid's forehead crinkle in surprise. "Me? Wouldn't Emily be a better person to interview her? It's likely she has issues with men..."

"No," Emily said, interrupting. "She will be more distrustful of women. She'll have abandonment issues because of her mother's death, and who she was left with. If I go in she'll try to manipulate me. She'll see you as being different – you've more of a chance to get on her level, make a connection."

He shrugged, resuming his watch of her. "In that case, I'd like to wait for half an hour or so before speaking with her. I think we'll learn a lot from just watching her."

Hotch nodded. "That's fine. Leave it for forty-five minutes," he said, pulling out his cell. "Garcia's just sent something – there is no trail on who responded to the complaint from the coffee place. And Annabel Palmer has no registered address. We're going to have to get something from her soon." He snapped his cell shut and looked over to Emily.

She felt his gaze before she saw it, turning to meet it. "Hotch?" she said, knowing that he was about to suggest something.

"I think we should pay our friend Baker a little visit before he's transferred," he said. "Morgan – can you catch up with Garcia? See where she's up to?"

Morgan nodded, opening the door and making a quick exit. Emily knew he was relieved to not be interviewing Baker again.

"We'll meet back here in three-quarters of an hour. Plan your approach, Spence. We need you at your best in there," Hotch said, opening the door for himself and Emily.

It was only a short walk down to where Baker was. They stood outside of his cell for a moment, pausing for thought. Emily felt a wave of exhaustion, which at first surprised her, then she remembered how long they had been working these cases and how intense it – and everything else – had been. And it still wasn't over.

"How are we doing this?" she said, looking at Hotch, who was staring into Baker's cell through the small viewing gap in the door.

"You lead," he said. "Baker will expect it to be me. If he sees that you have power he'll likely begin to give things away to try to scare you. Act unnerved, don't show your fear. The more clinical you can be the better."

"What about you?" Emily said. "He'll be expecting you to be reserved. Role reversal?"

"It'll put him off guard even more. We need to know where Wells is, and get to the bottom of what's happened with his sister. We do know that his mother is alive and well, and living in Oklahoma. Winters contacted her before – she's on her way here, but she wants nothing to do with him," Hotch said, his hand now on the external lock. He gave a brief nod to the guard and opened the door. Emily went in first, her expression severe.

"Edmund Baker?" she said, sitting down on one of the chairs at the small table. Baker was under constant supervision, and would be at least for several days, although in a few hours time it would be under the watchful eye of the Rapid City prison guards. "We'd like to ask you a few questions."

He smiled at her, his lips creeping upwards and he reminded Emily of a snake about to swallow its prey whole. She stared back at him as his eyes moved down her body, mesmerising every curve, every stretch of visible skin, and she tried not to flinch.

"And why should I tell you anything you want to know, bitch?" he said, venom in his voice. "Delilah. Is that your name? My, my, my..." he began to sing.

"You've already been told that the insane card isn't going to work," Emily said, interrupting, her tone flat and disinterested. "We just need some information from you."

"Information? Don't you want to analyse me? Profile me some more? I can tell you all about what I did, sweetheart, all about what I did to those lovely young bodies. It would give you nightmares. You'd be seeing me in your sleep for months on end," he licked his lips provocatively, "just like I'll be dreaming of you."

She looked at him, not bothering to hold the stare for very long, and then focused behind him. "As you know, we profile criminals," she said, her words cold. "Your crimes are the work of a juvenile, and there is nothing in them that we haven't seen before – or seen much worse than. Where can we find Theodore Wells?"

"Teddy?" Baker said. "Teddy's dead." He laughed, clearly enjoying the rhyme. "He's under some floorboards in one of his houses."

"You wouldn't have bothered to hide him," Hotch said. "You don't have the intellect or the discretion. You'd leave him out in the same way you pinned your own paintings to your mother's refrigerator when you were a child to try and get her attention. You're sick and twisted, and you have no respect for women. A man like you will be dead before he even gets to death row."

Emily let him finish, watching Baker's expression, his eyes showing hurt and dismay.

"Do you know what I did to those girls? How I had them under my thumb, made them my slaves..." he said, becoming agitated. "You could never do that. You don't have my power."

Hotch laughed. "I don't need your power," he said. "I can get my women without sending them to hell and back. I can have my women, Eddie, and they come back for more of their own free will. I don't need restraints to keep them there, or to mutilate their legs to stop them from running. I'm a real man, Eddie, not one who pretends at it."

Emily felt something inside her move at Hotch's words, then very quickly remembered where she was. Her eyes remained on Baker.

"We just need to know where Wells is, Edmund. Nothing more," she said, giving him a false smile, like a librarian would give to someone she knew would mess up her shelves.

"And I'm not going to tell you," Baker said, a song in his voice.

Emily shrugged and stood up. "Then I won't waste my time."

Baker looked shocked, his need for attention stamping its feet. "You're not bothered about finding him?"

"We'll find him, Edmund. You're not that clever and we are. You will have visited him in one of his properties, probably the one nearest the college, and he'll be in – I don't know – the master bedroom I'd guess. A homage to your father," the look on his face told her she was right, that was exactly where Wells was.

"What about my sister? Do you know where she is?" He looked at Hotch, his face triumphant, wanting to impress and thinking he would do.

Hotch stood. "We don't care," he said.

Baker slammed his fist on the table, the resultant thud echoing. "I put her back in the barn. Where I found her. She was a slut," he hissed now, his eyes slits, snake-like once more. "Like you are..." he tried to move towards Emily, but Hotch blocked his move, having anticipated it, his hand going to Baker's neck.

"Sit down," Hotch said, and Baker dropped to the floor, beginning to sob. Hotch looked at Emily, raising his eyebrows to her, asking if she was alright. She nodded, unfazed. "Let's go."

She walked out of the room first, Hotch behind her in case the weeping Baker tried another move, and she felt a hand on the small of her back, just briefly, just for a second, and warmth swept though her, making everything better and the sun shine again.

_Please review!!_


	29. Chapter 29

_Thank you for the reviews – I think I am up to date with replies now! I wasn't quite sure as to the author of the quote at the start, so do excuse me if David Lynch isn't the writer! There are also references in this to Edgar Allen Poe._

_Thank you to __**Lily Moonlight**__ for the beta, and yes, more shall be revealed about Annabel later!_

_Please review and let me know what you think, my little poppets..._

Calverville Point, South Dakota

"When this kind of fire starts, it is very hard to put out. The tender boughs of innocence burn first, and the wind rises, and then all goodness is in jeopardy."  
- David Lynch et al

Chapter 29

Galileo Galilee once said "All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them." With that in his mind Reid entered the interview room determined to come out of there understanding something about Annabel Palmer. He had already worked out a few things; her pseudonym and appearance. The latter had become more striking the more he had watched her, her blonde curls had seemed natural, but gradually he'd noticed that her hair had been curled and lightened by a stylist rather than nature and then he'd spotted the resemblance his subconscious had been hunting since he'd seen her properly. Then he'd checked the records Garcia had brought to him, and he'd found the proof he needed to confirm his theory.

Annabel looked up at him as he entered, then turned away, her eyes dismissive. He sat down without saying anything, linking his fingers together and resting his hands on the table. He coughed slightly to clear his throat and stared at her. "'And this was the reason that, long ago, in this kingdom by the sea, a wind blew out of a cloud, chilling my beautiful Annabel Lee.'"

Any disinterest had now slipped away from her, and she was staring at Reid as if she had seen a ghost, her mouth slightly open and her eyes wide.

"I imagine the lady at your fourth foster home read it to you," Reid said. "It's unusual reading Poe to an eight year old, but then Mrs Mulligan was an unusual woman. It might interest you to know that two months after you were removed from her care she was admitted to a psychiatric unit suffering from a multiple personality disorder. She actually believed she was Annabel Lee, and she would have shown that obsession when you were with her. I imagine that as a small girl, you found the story of Annabel Lee almost like a fairy tale – maybe it was the only fairy tale you had ever been told – and as an adult the lullaby-like words of the poem stayed with you as comfort, so you chose the name Annabel." Her reaction was the one he wanted, the one he had seen when people thought he was reading their mind, and then it changed to one of fear, and the spots of knowledge in his brain began to connect, the picture becoming distinguishable.

"Annabel was a doomed character though, and maybe that's also how you perceive yourself. Fatally flawed. Your chosen surname – Palmer – was easy to understand when I realised that your hair was highlighted and your curls aren't natural, and you'd made yourself look almost exactly like Sheryl Lee when she played Laura Palmer in Twin Peaks," he paused, studying her again, still amazed at the resemblance. "Laura Palmer's murder was the catalyst for a series of events that destroyed the lives of others. Again, she was a flawed character: abused as a child and later worked in a brothel, but to all appearances was sweet and innocent. But then appearances can be deceptive."

He watched her, noticing that she was now regarding him with horror. Reid almost smiled; Morgan had told him many several occasions not to blind girls with facts if he wanted to impress them. He'd taken his advice now, not wanting to impress Annabel Palmer, wanting to worry her instead.

"How do you know this?" she said, confirming his suspicions.

Reid shrugged. "I think you met your partner while you were working as a prostitute, probably in Rapid City," he said. He and Rossi had discussed this possibility once Reid had divulged his name theory. "You began to see each other out of work when you discovered you had the same taste in sado-masochism, and he accepted you for aspects of your personality that others had frown upon and found weird. But you see, Annabel, you were a product of a fire that had begun when you were young, probably before you were even born. Anyone would become disturbed finding their mother's body after she committed suicide, and the abuse you were subjected to both before and after her death would have left a less strong person heading the same way."

"I don't see what this has got to do with me being here," she said, her voice musical, enchanting.

"What I don't understand, Annabel, is what you did with the bodies. I can get why you did it – dislike of men who had abused you and let you down, and the influence of your partner. But why keep the bodies near to you? Aren't they reminders? Or was that your partner's demand? Because you'd never go against him, would you? He is in charge, he is the boss and you need him. But he loves you, right? So why would he make you keep reminders of those men around?"

She had become agitated, her eyes flicking around the room, looking at one wall and then another, as if expecting a secret doorway to open. And then Reid knew. The information Garcia had found just twenty minutes before, the reasons she only worked two days a week and could never do extra shifts and the fact they'd had no known address for her since she was eighteen.

He stood up. "You don't mind because you don't see them. He buries them in the outhouses, the barns, the... the places where you wouldn't go because that's where she kept you, Sandra Mulligan, for days at a time. Her Annabel."

"You don't know anything," she said, it was almost a whisper. "You don't know anything."

Reid shook his head. "I know enough."

He left the room, hearing her begin to sob.

* * *

"Sea Hollow Farm belonged to Martyn Mulligan's aunt, a Mrs Kathleen Munroe. When Sandra Mulligan was admitted to The Heights hospital, Kathleen Munroe was listed as her next of kin. She died eleven years ago, leaving Sea Hollow to Sandra. Apparently, Sandra spent a lot of time there, using the place as her own whenever Kathleen was abroad – she made countless trips to Europe," Garcia said, her words cascading over the crackling cell connection. "Sea Hollow is definitely occupied at the moment. They have a couple of outstanding utility bills which are all in the name of Sandra Mulligan. They're usually paid on time, but always in cash."

"Thanks, Garcia," Hotch said, his hands fixed on the steering wheel. Emily ended the call, and Hotch felt her eyes stroke his skin. They were on their way to Sea Hollow Farm, a thirty five minute drive from Calverville Point's small centre, and located in the area Reid had highlighted. Hotch was experiencing a sense of relief, that they could soon have found some form of closure for the town, but he also had a sense of impending doom, profiles of previous killers suggesting that this would end in suicide by cop, if they were lucky.

"Are we expecting to find any of the men alive?" Reid said from the back.

"It's a possibility," Hotch said. "We have paramedics on standby. I just hope this is it."

"It is," Reid said. "Without a doubt. For the past five years Annabel Palmer has been visiting Sandra Mulligan in hospital three days a week. Sandra's medical reports suggest that she is much calmer and more lucid after her _daughter's_ visits."

"And she did this under the name Annabel Mulligan?" Emily said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Garcia is a legend. What we would do without her genius I do not know."

Hotch smiled inwardly, momentarily enjoying the feeling of being part of a unit.

"I find her motivations for Annabel resuming her relationship with Sandra quite interesting," Reid said. "Why get back in touch with someone who regularly locked you up and left you starving?"

"But I would think that when Sandra became lucid, she would make it up to Annabel and that would have been pretty much the only affection the child received. In some ways she would perhaps enjoy being abandoned in the outhouses because she knew what would happen after. Pain followed by pleasure," Emily said.

"Then there's more significance to where the men might be buried," Hotch said, navigating a particularly icy stretch of track. He flicked on his warning lights to let JJ know who was behind him, having usurped Rossi and Morgan from the role of driver once more. "Let's see what we find."

The farm came into view; a larger building and a series of outhouses, three barns almost three hundred and fifty metres from the main house. Hotch knew instinctively that that was where they would find some of the men. That far away from the house would mean that they would not contaminate any day to day normality that Annabel and her partner would have.

He slowed the vehicle to a halt and put it into park, pulling out his coat from the trunk. JJ pulled up beside them, three police cars behind them. Hotch felt a sense of déjà vu, and he hoped the results of today would be more profitable than the last raid they had done. There were fresh tire tracks leading away from the farm that had clearly not been left by Annabel. Her partner was probably off the premises, and Hotch wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

Glancing across at Morgan, they began to make their way to the main house which Hotch, Morgan, Emily and two officers were due to search. Reid, Rossi and JJ were heading up other small parties that were going to enter the small-holdings; the barns, stables and other outhouses. Some of them looked to be in a state of disrepair, their roofs collapsing, and the windows lacking glass.

The front door to the main house was locked. Hotch banged twice, listening with all of his senses for any movement, and sign of occupation. None came. He looked at Morgan and stood back as Morgan's boot met the wood and the door swung open with some force.

They entered, clearing each room with speed. The house was traditionally decorated, almost old fashioned although the furniture looked new. Hotch figured that Annabel had kept it as she remembered from her childhood.

"All clear," Morgan said, coming back down the stairs. "He's not here. We just need to check the cellars."

"Hotch, you need to see this," JJ's voice came into his ear piece.

He looked at Morgan and Emily. "You two take the cellars. I'm going over to JJ." He left them at the top of the cellar stairs, glancing at the mantelpiece as he walked back through the living room. A letter caught his eye, resting behind a framed photograph of who he assumed was Kathleen Munroe. He picked it up and read the name on the envelope.

David Mallory.

Hotch cursed under his breath. He and Emily had spent the best part of the day with the man and hadn't given him a second thought when considering the UnSub, even though they had both commented on his oddities. He ran a hand through his hair, wishing he could kick himself for his blindness, but that wouldn't do any good at this point in time. He pulled out his cell to call Detective Winters back at the station instead.

The call rang out.

He tried her cell. The same story. No answer.

Alarm bells began to ring. "Rossi, JJ, Reid - leave the officers to secure the outhouses and whatever you've found and head straight back to Calverville. We have a situation there." He backtracked at speed to the cellar steps and pushed open the door. "Emily! Derek! I need you up here now!" he shouted. He could hear their voices, the sounds of their analysis, echoing up the stairs and their footfalls growing closer.

"They should make cellars illegal," Emily said as her almost black hair emerged into light.

"But then what would Rossi do with his wine?" Morgan replied. His expression changed as he saw Hotch. "What is it, man? What's happened?"

"It's Mallory," Hotch said. "He's the UnSub, Annabel's partner, and there's no answer at the station or from Winters' phone."

"Did he know we were coming here?" Emily said. "We've kept this quiet - "

"He was on duty this morning," Hotch said. "I noticed his name on the rota. He may well have found out from another cop. We need to get back to Calverville, and fast."

* * *

"Tell me what you found in the cellar," Hotch said as they reached the car. JJ, Rossi and Reid were already there, Rossi casting Hotch a worried look as he got into the driving seat, JJ in the passenger seat already. Hotch nodded at him, knowing what thoughts were going through his head, and hoping that he had the control to drive safely over roads that would be a good practising surface for an ice dancer.

"There were three rooms," Emily said. "Two were kitted out as a torture chamber. The third, which was in the middle, contained a settee, sink and kettle, and a couple of women's magazines." Her tone was dry and almost cutting as she saw the irony of the situation.

"What was in the torture chamber?" Hotch said, trying to focus on both the drive and developing a profile of Mallory.

"Tools," she said. "Pliers, a small hammer, scalpel – the sorts of things you'd expect to mutilate and torture. There was nothing that I would call original. Nothing invented."

"Was it tidy?" Hotch said, concerned at Rossi's speed as the vehicle he was driving pulled further away from Hotch's.

"It was obsessively tidy," Morgan said from behind him. "The tools were lined up in size order and there was no blood to be seen. There was an iron bedstead in each, but the mattress was made up of chipboard and blankets, which all looked clean. I expect when the crime scene techs get in there with their luma light, all sorts of stuff'll show up."

"He has an obsessive nature," Hotch said. "He's a traditionalist, which is shown in the decor of house as well as with his tools. He will have come from a household where his mother ruled with a rod of iron, and was supported by his father although he was rarely there." He paused for a moment. "Emily, phone JJ. We need to know what they found in the outhouses."

"I'm not sure I want to hear," Emily said, taking out her cell. "Jayje, we have you on speaker. What did you find?"

"Three bodies, in various states of decomp. One looked as if it had only been there a day or so, another no more than a week. They were placed upstairs in one of the barns, laid out in a row with a blanket over them," she said. "There also looked as if there had been activity under the floorboards that were down in there. A few were wobbly, as if they hadn't been put back right."

"Mallory will be transferring the bodies down there once Annabel's moved on from them. I expect that once they're past the point of recognition, she becomes disgusted by them, but won't let him move them too far away from her," Hotch said. "JJ, tell Dave to slow down. I need all of you in Calverville, not on the way to the hospital."

They heard JJ trying to pacify Rossi, his reply sharp and clearly concerned, but his vehicle did slow, and Hotch felt himself relax a little. He knew that time was of the essence, but so was their safety.

The connection on the cell phones failed, and Emily put it back in her pocket. "What's your take on the relationship between Mallory and Annabel?" she said, tightening the ponytail she had scraped her hair back into on the ride there.

"He sees her as his wife and he adores her. That's where he's gone. He's gone to get her," Hotch said. "You do what you can to protect your family, and she's all he's got, and that's what's going to make him dangerous. Try calling the station again."

Emily took out her cell once more, putting the call on speaker. Hotch saw her about to cancel the call before a quiet voice answered.

"Hello."

"It's Agents Prentiss, Morgan and Hotchner," Emily said. "Who am I speaking to?"

"Katie. Katie Walsh." It was barely a whisper. "It's Mallory. He has Winters and three others in the conference room."

The thought that Hotch had been trying to ignore for the past fifteen minutes confronted him with a vengeance. "Katie," he said. "Where's Garcia?"

There was silence for a few seconds, and he felt his body tense to the point of cracking.

"She's with him. He entered the station armed and fired. He aimed his weapon at those closest and made them enter the conference room. She was one." Her voice was shaking.

"Where are you?" Hotch said, slowing down as they took a bend. He cursed the weather for what felt like the hundredth time since that had been there.

"I'm in the bullpen, under one of the desks. I know I should confront him..."

"No, that's exactly what you don't do. Katie," Hotch said, pushing himself to take control. "Where's Baker?"

"He was picked up and taken to Rapid City about an hour ago," she said. He could tell the effort she using to keep herself together.

"Okay, I need you to open the back door to the station. I know it's normally locked, but that's how I'm going to enter. Do it quietly, then go and sit in the room next to Annabel Palmer's interview room and lock yourself in. Do you understand?" he said, a mental plan of the station forming in his mind.

"Yes sir," she said. "I have my cell with me. When I'm done I'll text Spencer."

"Good," Hotch said. "You must keep yourself safe." He quickly glanced at Emily to hang up, then checked the rear view to see what the expression was like on Morgan's face. It was grim.

"I need rationality from you, Derek," Hotch said. "I don't need any one man heroics. If you can't manage that, tell me now."

"I'm with you, Hotch," Morgan said, the words quiet but simmering.

"Okay," Hotch said. "We'll need to try to talk Mallory down. Emily, get Rossi on the phone."

Their conversation was brief and to the point, ending as they pulled up into Calverville Point, the police station standing there quiet and still, as if nothing had happened, and everything was just fine.

* * *

_Please review! Encouragement is always needed, especially as my rather migrained out mind is trying to plan a sequel..._

_Sarah x_


	30. Chapter 30

_Thank you for the reviews for the last chapter, I really appreciate them. This chapter may be a little rusty, as I am posting very late, after a very hectic day. Please let me know if this is okay – reviews were down on the previous chapter, although a lot of people read it – and I could do with some encouragement! Apologies for not having replied to reviews yet - I will tomorrow. Real life is getting in the way some what at the moment!_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.'  
- Plato

Chapter 30

She had been at the receiving end of a gun already, a memory which she had tried to rid herself of, but had never really succeeded. Penelope Garcia was crouched down in a corner, trying to make herself as small as possible, while the man with the gun paced around the room, his eyes moving from her and the others, to the window, to the door. Mallory had said nothing, simply pointing his police issued weapon at anyone who moved or tried to speak.

Garcia took a deep breath as he turned around to face the three of them. He had already stripped Detective Winters and the other officer of their weapons, shooting at Officer James and grazing his shoulder with a bullet when he had initially refused.

"I don't see what you're going to achieve by doing this," Winters said. Garcia tried to push herself further into the corner, knowing that when they had spoken before he'd gotten angry, leaving bullet holes in the wall.

"You," he said, his voice unnervingly quiet. "You have Annabel."

"Then why don't we go see her?" Winters said, edging away from Garcia and James. "Let these two go outside, and I will take you to where she is."

Mallory pointed his gun at her. "Go stand near the window, Barbara," he said, and Garcia realised she hadn't ever known Winters' first name until now.

"If you want to see her..."

Mallory fired, narrowly missing her and shooting into the wall a half a foot away. Garcia felt herself gasp, tears now flooding her eyes. She had managed to prevent their spillage up until now, but the closeness of the bullet was too much.

"I want Annabel brought out of here, so we can leave," Mallory said. "Now stand near the window."

Garcia knew what he was doing. Unfortunately he was a cop, and he could predict what tactics would be played to have them released. By blocking the windows he would lessen the chance of sniper attack. They would have to listen to his demands. She wondered where Hotch was, and JJ, and Morgan. Whether they had realised what was happening at Calverville Point, or whether they were still at the farm. She closed her eyes briefly and prayed that they were on their way back. Hotch was the best, he had co-written the handbook on hostage situations, and if anyone could get them out of here alive, she knew he could.

"How far do you think you'll get?" Winters asked.

Garcia opened her eyes and stared at the woman. Why was she talking? It was only going to anger him.

"We'll get away," Mallory said. "And if you speak again, I'll shoot Officer James properly this time." He sat down on a chair, his weapon still engaged, his eyes still flicking between the three of them. Eventually they stopped on Garcia, and he smiled, making her feel sicker than she had done already. "I have one of the FBI's own here. They're not going to let _her_ get hurt, are they?" He rested his head back.

They were playing a waiting game. Garcia just hoped that the wait wouldn't be too long.

* * *

Hotch pulled up just out of sight of the station, leaving the other to follow his previously given instructions, and made his way around the back of the building where the door, he hoped, would be open. Mallory knew the protocol. He knew that they would try to establish contact with him, as well as having someone ready to take the shot, if they could.

Hotch couldn't play the games he usually did, they didn't have those options available to them. Instead he was going to have to rely on the profile, and his and his teams, skills as a profiler.

Footfalls sounded behind him, and he glanced round to see Emily there. "Rossi's on his way," she said, turning in the opposite direction and making her way to the interview room.

The station was desolated; the few officers who had been there had left the building on Winters' instructions, preventing Mallory from taking any more hostages. Morgan would be with them now, setting up a manned boundary and calling in reinforcements.

Hotch didn't think they had the time to wait for them to get there.

He heard a gunshot, but no scream. He listened for voices, for Garcia, for Detective Winters. All he heard was Mallory's voice.

"Where are they? Where is the goddamn FBI?" He kept repeating, clearly becoming agitated by the wait.

Hotch lifted his wrist to his mouth. "Morgan," he said, a response coming immediately. "Keep everyone out of sight. "Mallory has no idea we're here. I want to keep it that way."

Mallory perceived himself to be important; he needed control to maintain that belief. If there was no response from the FBI, he would become more frantic and restless; he would begin to think that they weren't interested.

"Any sign from Garcia?" Hotch heard Dave say as he soundlessly moved near to him.

Hotch shook his head. "He's got them pinned," Hotch said. "He'll have Winters at the window to block any shot, and I imagine he's already disabled the male officer in some way. Garcia's no threat to him, and he'll want her as a bargaining chip."

Rossi nodded. "How are you going to go about this?"

"I'm going to play it down," Hotch said. "Make him think that it's only me here. Offer him what he wants. Emily's with Annabel and will be taking her into the cells. If he decides that this is the end, he will want to take her with him."

"What's his relationship with Winters been like?" Rossi said. "Can we predict what he will do with her?"

"It's an unknown," Hotch said. He hated that. He hated not knowing. "Morgan," he pressed a small button on his wrist. "How did Winters and Mallory get along?"

"He didn't like having a woman as a boss," Morgan said. "Made a few sexist remarks to a couple of his colleagues, but that was it. He's just quietly gotten on with his job for the past five years, but never become that friendly with anyone and has always been a bit strange."

"Thanks, Derek," Hotch said. He glanced at Rossi, who remained in the small back room while Hotch made his way into the bullpen, staying out of sight of the windows.

"Officer Mallory," Hotch said, using the title rather than his first name to give Mallory some sense of power. "This Agent Aaron Hotchner. You showed me and Agent Emily Prentiss the dump sites of the girls' bodies on our first day here." Hotch knew that Mallory would remember him, but by providing a memory it heightened Mallory's ego and lessened Hotch's. Mallory would become more important, he may not remember trivial things such as Hotch.

"I want Annabel, and a car and out of here without being followed. I will take your analyst and if anyone follows us, or tries to track us I will kill her. If I am satisfied that everything is to order I will leave your analyst in North Dakota, near a pay phone," Mallory said.

Hotch felt a slight weight lift from his shoulders. This was what he had been expecting, although he knew it was a rouse. Mallory was aware of what he would and wouldn't be given. "We can't give you Annabel, Mallory. You know that." Hotch glanced at the window between the conference room and the bullpen and saw the back of Garcia's head. He had no clear shot. "I can take you down to the cells to see her, but you need to let the hostages go first."

"Annabel's not in the cells, she's in the interview room. I saw her name up. You're lying, Agent Hotchner." Mallory was now distracted from his demands. Being lied to meant that he was out of control and his anger would turn on Hotch.

"Agent Prentiss has just taken her down there," Hotch said. "We went to your house, Mallory, we have found the men. We know what you have been doing. We no longer need to interview Annabel. We have enough evidence to change her with first degree murder and this state still has the death penalty."

"Mallory, let Garcia and James go," Hotch heard Winters say. Her voice was shaking. "James is injured. He needs medical attention."

Mallory laughed, and Hotch knew he had no intention of letting any of them go. This was his swansong; his final dance. "Do you think I care about that now, Barbara?" Mallory said. "All I want, all I need, is to have Annabel again. She is all that matters. Agent Hotchner!"

Hotch paused a few seconds before responding. "Officer Mallory?"

"I need to see Annabel."

"Then I need you to send somebody out so they can go and get her. I can't leave you, and no one else is here with me, apart from Agent Prentiss." Hotch kept the stress out of his voice, he needed to not let Malloy have any control. "Send out Officer James. He can get Agent Prentiss and Annabel from the cells."

There was silence, apart from a rhythmic banging from one of the desks.

"Agent Hotchner," Mallory said, sounding tense, like an elastic band about to snap.

"Yes?" said Hotch.

* * *

The silence was worrying Morgan. He'd heard nothing from Hotch or Rossi or Emily for a good twenty minutes. No instructions, no updates, no nothing. It worried him.

Morgan moved further towards the building, keeping out of the line of sight from the windows. He could see someone's back in the window of the conference room , a back that looked like Detective Winters'.

"Hotch," he said into the speaker on his wrist. "What's happening, man? How's Penelope?"

There was a moment with no reply, when Morgan's world became slightly darker.

"Hotch is talking with him now, Derek," Rossi's voice was less than a whisper. "Garcia's fine. Everything's going to be okay."

A crowd was beginning to draw around him as people realised what was happening. A perimeter had been set up by the officers who were desperate to do something, and even though the gathering of people was growing a silence was filling the place.

Morgan saw Reid, who was directing some other officers who had just gotten to them. He moved over to him, his heart pounding and the urge to do something almost overwhelming. "You any idea what's going on in there?" Morgan said when Reid was close enough to hear.

"Hotch will be trying to talk him out of the room, or into letting the hostages go. It's difficult – a lot of approaches have been ruled out because Mallory will already be familiar with them," Reid said.

Morgan took a step back. "I want to get in there – even if it's just to sit next to Rossi and stay in the background."

"And if you do that you'll want to get into the conference room and pull Garcia out. If Hotch wants us in there, he'll say so," Reid said, eyeing him. "I know you're worried, Morgan, we all are."

Morgan nodded, his eyes going back to the window. They had two snipers focusing on the window. If a clear shot of Mallory was to be had, and Hotch gave the order, they would take him down. Morgan willed for the opportunity for Winters to move.

"Morgan," Derek's ear piece broke its silence.

"Hotch, man. How's it going?"

"Slowly. Mallory's aiming for suicide by cop, but I think he wants to take as many down with him as he can. I need to you to replace Emily in the cells with Katie. Send Emily to me once you're there," Hotch said.

"On my way." Morgan felt relief at the chance to move, and began to pace quickly round to the back of the building. The door had been left ajar by Rossi, who had been the last one in. Morgan entered and turned left towards the holding cells. He passed the interview room where they had been only three hours before and wished, not for the first time, for the use of a crystal ball. As he walked a little further, her heard Emily's voice quietly talking to Katie. She was going through the strategies that Hotch would be using, trying to reassure the girl that everything would be okay. He saw, as he entered the area, that Katie was upset, Emily's arm around her shoulder, providing comfort.

"Em," he said. "Hotch needs you."

She stood up nodding, then squeezed Katie's shoulder, leaving Morgan staring at the girl in the cell, her blue eyes as cold as the icy ground outside. He nodded at Katie, then gave his attention to Annabel. "So," he said. "Tell me something I need to know."

* * *

Emily could hear Hotch clearly as she approached the bullpen. Her weapon was at the ready, in both hands, should she encounter a scene that she wasn't expecting.

She slipped through the doors, seeing Hotch outside the conference room, the windows between them blocked by Garcia and the other officer. Hotch nodded at her, gesturing for her to stand next to him. She put her gun back in its holster, keeping one hand on it just in case.

"I want to know that Annabel's alright," she heard Mallory say. "I want to see her." The discord in his voice told her of his unbalanced mental state.

"She's been telling me about you," Emily said, after a look from Hotch. "She's been saying how happy you make her. How you've looked after her. If she hadn't have met you she'd have never known who she was. She loves you."

There was silence. She heard a slight whimper from Garcia and her heart tore a little. This wasn't what Garcia was about. She was happy in her room, with her computers and the funny things that made her happy, bringing colour to replace the darkness they dealt with.

"Officer Mallory. You don't need to hurt these people. My friend, Penelope Garcia, she's done nothing wrong. Neither has Officer James. If you let them out, I will go get Annabel and bring her to you," Emily said, allowing herself to sound as if she was pleading. They had discussed this in the car, before they had returned to Calverville. Emily glanced at Hotch and saw him nod. "May I come in?" she said. "I can tell you more about how Annabel is. We can work something out."

She waited, thirty seconds, a minute, then drawing her weapon, slid the door open by an inch, two inches. "Officer Mallory," she said. "Is it safe for me to enter?" Her heart began to pound in her chest like it had never done before.

"This isn't what you're supposed to do," he said quietly. Emily heard something drop onto the floor than sounded like a gun. She felt Hotch's hand on her back, its presence slowing her heart rate for a change.

"Every situation is different, Officer Mallory," she said. "Sometimes we have to make up the rules as we go along." In a different situation she would have applied that sentence to other things as well. As it were, she just concentrated on taking a step further, nudging the door open a little more. "We look at the behaviour of the UnSub and use that to decide what to do in order to get the right outcome for everyone."

"She didn't do anything," Mallory said, his voice muffled, sounding as if he was facing away from her. "It was all me. Annabel never knew."

Emily took one more step and entered the room.

* * *

Garcia only remained quiet because she saw Emily's eyes glare at her to do so, otherwise she would have screamed at her to get out of there. She hated it when any of them went into a situation like this, hated those moments when she didn't know if she would see them alive again, and lost a little piece of herself whenever she heard that there was an issue, an event that demanded that one of them might be sacrificed. But it was their job, and that was something she had to accept each and every day.

Emily's gun was trained on Mallory's back, her stance solid, unfazed. Garcia felt tears begin to trickle down her cheeks, slow, silent tears that dripped coldly onto her neck. She wanted to wipe them away, but movement was beyond her now. She was as frozen as the snow.

Hotch moved in as quietly as a ghost, blocking Officer James as Emily was blocking her. "Drop your weapon," Hotch said, his voice firm, and for Garcia, as reassuring as a duvet and a roaring fire.

Garcia choked back the sobs as she saw the expression on Detective Winters' face. She was looking down the barrel of a gun held by one of her own officers. The woman was petrified.

A glance was passed between Emily and Hotch, one that Garcia couldn't understand but clearly they did.

"Put down your weapon or we will have to fire," Emily said. "And you won't get the chance to tell Annabel you love her."

"She knows already," Mallory said, aiming his weapon higher.

"Have you told her?" Emily said. Garcia noticed her shifting slightly, probably to get a better aim. She inhaled. She did not want to see anyone die. "You need to tell her yourself."

Garcia heard a click and closed her eyes.

* * *

A bird took flight across the grey sky, its wings using the currents of air to soar higher and higher, oblivious to the gunshot that echoed across the square, freezing a moment in time. A photograph for the memory to try and forget.

* * *

_Please review – let me know what you think!!_

_Sarah x_


	31. Chapter 31

_Thank you to all those who reviewed. This week is another hideous one, I'm afraid, although I will try to post every other day it may be that I miss Friday, and post Saturday instead as I have my whole staff do (in excess of 100 people) and I'm organising it, so I'm going to be spending most of the week wondering where I left my head!!_

_Please review – I find writing the end of stories quite hard, and we are now approaching the end. Chapters 32 is done and dusted and is incredibly long, so I only have one, possibly two, more to do the team leave Calverville Point, so encouragement please!_

_Thank you to __**Lily Moonlight**__ for the betaing of this._

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out of the heart of darkness comes the light.'  
- Jean Giraudoux

Chapter 31

The second shot was dealt by a hand that did not quake, or hesitate. The trigger was pulled firmly, and the bullet found its target, the body dropping to the ground without the effects of slow motion. Final breaths were exhaled, the chest stilling and the light behind the eyes dimmed.

Emily felt a tornado swirl around her as everyone moved at once, Mallory's death cutting the ropes that had bound them to stillness. She heard Hotch calling for paramedics, his hands applying pressure to the wound, the greyness of the room now coloured red. She heard Garcia, somehow pulling herself together, instructing Officer James to leave the room. She heard Rossi, talking to Winters, trying to get her to keep her eyes open, to maintain consciousness.

And then the room was swamped with other people. Only Mallory's body remained still, the centrepiece of a macabre tableau.

"Are you okay?" she heard Hotch's voice, saw him using a cloth that had come from who knew where to wipe his hands. "It was a good shot."

She nodded. "Winters – what did they say?" What had just happened had become a blur already, her brain refusing to deal with it. It would reoccur in nightmares, dreams that would wake her in the middle of the night; that shot echoing through her subconscious mind over and over. Another sound to add to the collection.

"It's touch and go. He knew what we were about to do," Hotch said, moving closer to her. "Rossi's gone with her in the ambulance, along with Jolene."

She realised that time had passed quicker than she had been aware. "I hate doing that," she said, regaining some sort of composure. There was nothing she, or they, could do about the turn of events, and she had to reconcile herself to that, else she would not be able to move on.

Hotch nodded. "In an ideal world he'd have placed down his weapon and walked away, but we aren't in an ideal world. He knew it was over, and if you hadn't acted when you did, his aim would have been better, and Winters wouldn't be on a stretcher."

"If I'd have shot him sooner..." she allowed herself the wish, just once.

"If you'd have taken him down sooner, Emily, it could have been a questionable shooting. You shot him as soon as you knew he was about to take aim. And that's the last we say about it." His eyes were as black as onyxes, and she felt an odd pull as she looked into them. At the moment, he was her boss, and she sought to retain an emotional distance from him, to not allow those eyes to take hold of her and toy with her like putty.

It almost worked, until his right hand glided onto her hip.

No one could see; no one was interested at that moment, and Emily ignored her second instinct to pull away.

"Aaron..." she said, unsure of what to say.

His eyes retained hold of hers, and she couldn't redirect her gaze. "We should go outside. Deputy Rawson's going to need some help and we still have Annabel to deal with." His hand was still there, burning into her flesh, branding her with his heat. His fingers shifted, their pressure causing her stomach to flip.

"Aaron," she said again, this time with warning in her tone. She had to keep some form of self-preservation, and knowing that she was not able to contain her emotions behind an icy wall as he was, she needed to take some control another way.

He moved his hand, and she let her expression tell him what he needed to know. She regretted the loss of contact, wanted more of it, but this was a precipice off which they could topple and here wasn't the place.

"I should find JJ," he said. "We'll need to prepare a statement for the media."

"There will also be the mayor to deal with. Once it gets out about the ranch and the outhouse, we'll have a swarm of people here, wanting to see if this is where their loved one ended up," she said, following him out of the door and into the bullpen.

"The crime scene techs and the pathologist will have a more accurate idea of how many bodies there are there by the morning," Hotch said, as a cold blast of air hit them once the door was opened. "I'll have Rawson send extra men over there to help search and watch the perimeter. It should be safe enough being out of the way. We can even put up road blocks if necessary." He looked about him, noting who was there and exactly what was happening.

"Hotch!" Emily heard JJ shout. "When we heard the gun fire - " Reid appeared alongside her, his hair knotted and wind tousled .

"There was a chance it could have been much worse," Hotch said, looking over JJ's shoulder. "We should give a statement. Is there any word from the hospital yet?"

Emily felt slightly sick as she recalled Detective Winters dropping to the ground, the bullet striking her just above the heart. Images of it flew through her mind and she felt lightheaded.

"Emily," she heard a voice. "Emily. You should sit down." It was Reid.

She gave a weak smile at his concern, pulling herself out of the memory. "I'm fine, Spence," she said. "But I think I could do with a coffee and a sandwich. I haven't eaten since breakfast."

Reid nodded. "None of us have. Maybe we should see if we can grab some food from somewhere. Everything seems to be covered around here."

She looked around. Garcia was with one of the paramedics, arguing adamantly that she did not need to be taken to the hospital. Officer James had already gone; the wound he had taken was superficial, but needed treatment nonetheless. If she hung around for too long, one of the paramedics would undoubtedly want to interview her, and although she knew that she needed to get her ankle checked, it could wait until she was at the hospital later. "I'll let Hotch know where we're going," she said, spotting him having just spoken to one of the journalists from Rapid City whose face had become familiar over the past few days.

Reid gave her a slight smile that had more words behind it that the ones she could read that that moment, and she cast him a quizzical eye. Wandering over to Hotch, she became acutely aware that she was holding the attention of JJ and Morgan as well as Reid, and that her conversation with their unit chief was about to bit monitored.

"Hotch," she said as he turned away from the journalist. His expression was the usual; the recent flashes of emotion that she had seen were absent.

He stepped towards her, JJ trying to make herself invisible and failing miserably. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine," she said, and she knew he could see the lie. She hated this, this sign of weakness. They'd all shot people before – it came with the job – but the events of nearly an hour ago were taking their toll in a way they didn't usually.

He raised an eyebrow, questioning her answer, and closed the remainder of the distance between them. "You've been involved in two heavy cases, and effectively taken down a killer in both. There has to be some emotional fallout, and as tough as you are, I think you need to take it easy for a few days." His words were almost soft, spoken quietly so no one else could hear. "Emily, you are not a machine, so don't try and be one. As good as you are at compartmentalising, you also need to give yourself a break."

"Yes," she couldn't help but eyeing him as she omitted the 'sir' at the end of the sentence. "Reid was wanting to get some food."

Hotch nodded. "He and JJ can go. Morgan and I will deal with everything here and then meet you back at the motel. We should only be half an hour. You should head back there now." He looked at her with unlit fire in his stare.

"Okay," she said, the need for sleep pounding on her conscious. "Tell Reid to order me a ham baguette."

She saw the smallest of smiles appear before she trudged through the snow back to motel, sleep calling her name like a Siren's enchanted song.

* * *

It was the noises Rossi didn't like; the beeps and murmurs of the machines that were now attached to Barbara Winters seemed like some discordant nightmare. He glanced across at Jolene, who was holding her sister's hand, her face darkened with worry, creased with concern.

"She's a tough woman," he said, as the ambulance slowed, pulling into the bay for the ER. "She's held out this long - " He'd seen several colleagues die of gunshot wounds, including ones that were not meant to be fatal. It depended on the fight inside them, that and the initial treatment. Hotch had been quick, his fingers and quick thinking stopping too much blood loss, and the paramedics had been there almost immediately, Morgan having called them as soon as he'd had the opportunity.

"She'll be taken straight into theatre," one of the paramedics said as he began to prepare Winters for the move. "The surgeons are expecting her. You should go wait in the Aster waiting area."

Rossi nodded, pulling Jolene towards him as they wheeled the stretcher out of the vehicle. A strangled sob came from her, and he murmured words of comfort, knowing that they were futile in his attempt to reassure. The only thing they could do was wait, and hope.

He led the way to the waiting area, wondering why the people who designed these buildings decided to have various areas names after flowers. It brought no comfort, and reminded him more of a cemetery than of optimism. "I'll get you a coffee," he said to Jolene. "And something to eat."

"I'm okay, Dave," she said, shaking her head. "I don't feel hungry."

"You'll be surprised," he said. "I'll get you something sweet. You'll need the energy."

She tried to smile, but her eyes were too full with worry. "Andrew should be here soon," she said, referring to Winters' husband. "I phoned him as soon as you told me what had happened."

Rossi held his gaze a little longer, not wanting to rush speech, needing to slow the moments down in order to calm her. "I'll get us something from the canteen," he said. "Stay here, and if anything happens then phone me. My cell's in my pocket."

He turned around, giving her one last glance. He felt helpless as he saw her bury her face into her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, but he knew that she needed that time alone for a few moments, where she could reconcile her grief and anxiety.

The corridor was long and clinically white, large windows letting in what was left of the day light. There was a small coffee shop not too far away, and he joined a short queue, reading the menu and trying to maintain a sense of calm.

"Agent Rossi?" a familiar voice said from behind him. He turned around and saw a rather bruised but smiling face of a teenage girl stood in pyjamas.

"Sophie?" he said. "Should you be walking around?"

"They tried to keep me in bed, but, well, I guess it didn't work. Why are you here?" she said. "Is everyone okay? Emily's okay, isn't she?"

Rossi couldn't help but smile. "Emily's fine. I think she'll be coming to see you later," he said, remembering a brief comment Hotch had made. "Detective Winters has been shot, so I'm here with her and her sister."

Sophie's face fell. "Will she be alright?" she said. "Is there anything I can do? I know I can't do much but I could..."

Rossi put a hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed it, mindful of any injuries underneath the pyjama top. "She's a fighter, and the bullet hasn't hit anything major. Her condition is serious, but Detective Winters hasn't lost a battle yet."

"Can I take your order please?" the boy behind the counter asked.

Rossi faced him, and then knew why Sophie was so far away from the ward she was on. "Two coffees, please, and whatever this young lady is having."

"Hot chocolate," she said, her cheeks colouring a little, although her skin was still whiter than what was natural. "With whipped cream and marshmallows."

"How's Carla?" he asked, as the barista began to do his job. "She had surgery today, didn't she?"

Sophie nodded. "She's in recovery. I was allowed to see her when she woke up as she was asking for me, and she's okay. Her legs are in a pretty bad way." She looked at him with large brown eyes, the colour of the hot chocolate she had ordered. "I got lucky, Agent Rossi."

"No, it wasn't luck. It was bravery. You were tough and you fought. You saved yourself and Carla," he said.

"It was luck that you came in when you did," she said. "If you hadn't then I wouldn't have gotten out of there."

She had a point, Rossi knew. "You shouldn't think about what might have happened. If we did that then we'd never get on with living, we'd be too consumed with the past."

Sophie gave him a soft smile. "I know. I'm not going to let it eat me up. I'd rather it made me stronger. Is Emily definitely coming over later?"

Rossi could help but smile at the question. It was clear that Emily Prentiss now had a fan in this girl, and he didn't think it would do either of them any harm. "As far as I know, yes." The boy put the three drinks on the counter and Rossi took the two coffees. "Take care of yourself, Sophie, and I'm sure I'll see you again soon."

"Thank you, Agent Rossi," she said, putting a hand around the hot chocolate but not moving from the counter. "And I really hope that Detective Winters is okay."

He walked back down the corridor, the shards of sunlight now replaced by stars twinkling in a black sky unimpeded by clouds. It was a dark night, darker for some than others, but at some point, the sun would rise and there would be light. He was sure of it.

* * *

Emily found herself falling asleep as Hotch drove them along snowy roads towards the hospital. She'd spent the remainder of the afternoon dozing by an open fire, its flames soothing her like words hadn't been able and its warmth enveloping her in a comfort she'd nearly forgot. Reid and JJ had returned with sandwiches, and cake, that had been devoured quickly, much to their surprise.

There was little said between them. The fact that Detective Winters' fate was unknown hung like a thunder cloud over their heads, darkening the room. JJ kept checking her cell, Henry sleeping next to her on the sofa, glancing through files without really reading them.

Reid had immersed himself in some book he'd found in the entrance to the motel, and Morgan was sat with Garcia, an arm slung around her shoulders, his other hand flicking through a magazine on home improvements.

Hotch had called in only briefly to check they were okay, then pressured to eat the sandwich. Emily felt guilty; they had the opportunity to deal with what had happened, while he had the politics to deal with, the paperwork to fill out and the rest of the fallout to clear up. He'd then turned up just after the sun had finally waned, telling Emily that he was going to drive her to the hospital. It hadn't been an order from a boss; his tone had been too soft, lacking the weariness of having to carry out yet another duty, and one that any of the others could have easily done.

"You don't need to try to stay awake on my behalf," he said as he slowed to take a sharp bend.

Emily looked at him through drowsy eyes. "I've been sleeping all afternoon, Hotch. I could do with waking up a bit, else I won't sleep tonight. Has there been any word from Rossi?"

"She's still in theatre," Hotch said, his eyes on the road. "They'd heard nothing else since she was taken in."

Emily stayed silent, mulling over the lack of news. She'd been three hours in surgery – a long time. But the fact that she was still fighting gave them hope. Emily watched the snowdrifts at the side of the road, the starlight and the car's headlights bouncing off and making the snow twinkle, more like Christmas than Halloween.

Her eyelids fell again and she fell back asleep, only to be woken by the sound of Hotch's cell. "Hotchner," she heard him say, his ear piece already in, ready to take calls. "Excellent." There was a pause. "They're all at the motel. I'm taking Emily to the hospital." Another pause. "She's fine. I'll let you tell the rest of the team."

"Rossi?" she said, surprised at the tiredness in her voice.

"Yes. Detective Winters is out of theatre and is in a stable condition. There's no reason why she can't pull through," he said. "Rossi's leaving Jolene and Winters' husband with her, and is heading back to the motel. They'll probably order take-out when he gets there, so how about we stop off for something on the way back?"

"That would be good," she said, pushing herself up into the seat in the hope that it would wake her up. "Although we may end up waiting a while to get my ankle checked."

"I phoned before. You have an appointment at six forty-five," he said, no expression in his tone or on his face. "I didn't think you'd take very well to being kept hanging around."

Emily was now awake. "How did you manage that?" she said, glancing at the clock. It was now six twenty; they would get there just in time.

Hotch shrugged. "I phoned to see how Sophie and Carla were, and mentioned it to their doctor. Sophie seems to have made you out to be a bit of a heroine, so..."

Groaning, Emily interrupted him. "I had that from the co-owner of Calverville Coffee Shop this morning. I think I need to have a quiet word with Sophie."

Hotch shook his head. "I disagree," he said simply. "She is taking you for a role model, and a heroine then let her have that. We'll be out of here by the end of tomorrow, the day after at the latest, and you'll escape from any hero-worship then. She needs someone to look up to, and if you're planning on helping out with her future then - "

Emily saw the logic and sighed. "I guess you're right, but Morgan is going to have a wonderful time once he gets wind of this," she said. "I can see the mock headlines being emailed to me now."

She saw Hotch smile slightly. "You weren't the one who thought Reid spent the night with a serial killer. I would think that would stop any teasing."

She felt more awake now, plotting ways to make sure that Morgan understood the consequences of any taunts or references to super woman et al, and for a few minutes, she let quietness hover in the vehicle. When she realised that they hadn't spoken for a few minutes, she thought about how comfortable it was, how natural. She supposed it wasn't that strange; after all, she and Hotch spent the better part of each waking week together, and she'd have been just as comfortable with JJ or Morgan, but considering the conversations she'd been having with Hotch, about _them_, as in more than just colleagues, she would have expected there to be some sort of tension. And there wasn't any.

"You think we'll be heading home tomorrow?" she said, wondering if he would still want to remember their conversation about getting dinner when they were back home, or whether this comfortable atmosphere between them at this moment in time was because he had decided that there were no feelings for her after all.

"Possibly. I'd like us to interview Annabel Palmer, and see the crime scene at the house before we leave. I'd also like to find out whether or not the mayor's son is among the victims, but that may take some time," he said, passing signs for the hospital. "How's your ankle?"

"Aching," she said. "It's a dull ache, not like a twist or a sprain." She hadn't thought much about her ankle, had tried not to, as the memories of it were of Hotch's hands on her skin, his fingers weaving some sort of magic.

"You've possibly broken a small bone," he said. "If it is, then they'll give you painkillers and prescribe rest. You should possibly sit the next case out."

She stared at him, anger and hurt welling up inside, making her sit up straight the way her mother had taught her to. "Hotch," she said, trying to keep the explosion to a low roar. "Do you not want me there?"

He said nothing, steering the car into the hospital parking lot and choosing a space near to the entrance. Once he had put the car into park he turned and looked directly at her. She could see that his eyes were sparking fire, and she regretted her words.

"I – I..." she stuttered, cursing the inner nerd who liked to speak before thinking, and reacted instead of being proactive.

"I do want you there, wherever there may be. But I also don't want you having an injury that may affect you in the future because I didn't let you take care of yourself now," he said, with no allusion to anything other than their work.

Her eyes turned as cold as the ice they were stepping out on to, and she could tell he had noticed.

"Wait there," he said, his voice containing something she thought she'd been misreading. She opened the door and began to stand on the icy ground, her ankle twinging as she balanced. Then she felt an arm around her waist, a possessive arm that pulled her into a warm body with a scent that made those butterflies in her stomach come out of hibernation and dance a tango.

Hotch slammed the car door and keeping his grip on her, began to walk them to the hospital doors. The path they ended up walking on had been salted, and she would have managed perfectly well on her own, but his arm remained and she found herself leaning in a little. Maybe he just wasn't good with words.

At the reception desk, Hotch asked for a specific doctor, and they were directed to the elevator and given a room number to head to. The elevator seemed small and almost claustrophobic, the places on her body where his hands had been felt cold without his touch, and she found that she couldn't take her eyes from him, and it was all she could do to keep her hands on the rail instead of grabbing hold of him. Not that she would have done anyway, not without a series of inner conversations first, followed by some calming of nerves, by which time the moment would have passed. "So," she said as the elevator came to a halt. "You would want me there."

"You're a good agent. I think you've proved that again while we've been here. Why would I choose to leave you behind?" He was distant, factual, but this time it didn't upset her, because that look in his eyes as they captured hers told her a different story than his words.

As they walked along the corridor to the doctor's room she felt his hand on the small of her back again. She turned her head and looked timidly up at him, feeling twenty years younger and as if this was her first boyfriend. He looked sure of himself, but at the same time there was a hint of shyness in the way he held his mouth. This was unchartered territory. He'd had one serious relationship for most of his adult life, and she could quite honestly say that she'd never been in love. Not that she was with Hotch, but there was a _but _there somewhere. A big but.

* * *

Hotch waited outside after speaking briefly with the doctor. He was going to take an x-ray and do a quick examination, which would take no more than twenty minutes. He did ask if Hotch wanted to be present, clearly assuming that it was more than a boss making sure his subordinate was okay, which might have had something to do with the fact that Hotch's hand had been on Emily's waste when he'd opened the door.

He sat down in a nearby chair and took a deep, slow breath. It was over. They could finally leave Calverville Point knowing that they had done their bit. But the usual sense of relief wasn't there. Before Jack, there had been no greater high than putting away an UnSub, than getting a killer off the streets. But he was the light of Hotch's life now, and the highs from his job had never been the same.

But today, he felt less satisfied than usual. He's spoken to his son, told him that they'd put away the bad guys and that he'd see him soon, and he'd felt that intense rush of emotion for his little boy, just before the sadness that he wasn't there to hug him, or kiss him goodnight. He'd kind of become used to that. He would get those hugs, and those night time stays, and that was a comfort. Tonight though, he still felt frustrated.

He knew why.

The why was currently having her ankle x-rayed in the room in front of him.

On the job relationships were not uncommon. People sought solace with those that could understand them, abandoning the ones they'd chosen originally as they grew apart through a lack of shared experiences. Most people met their future partners at work. He knew the statistics and what ones he hadn't known before, Rossi had been emailing him in a not-so-subtle manner.

Emily was attractive, more than attractive. She was his equal in intelligence and they shared a set of common values. They had chemistry, although he hated to use that term. Basically, their subconscious minds knew that on a biological level they would be good mates. Not that he was interested in 'mating' in the breeding sense of the word.

It had been Haley who had been desperate for a baby, and he should have seen the signs better. A baby was a link between them, a talking point and the shared experience that they were lacking after he had become so tied to the job in the BAU. He'd had reservations about becoming a father, not having had the best example to follow, but he'd felt guilty for how he was treating Haley, and as she'd said, she was running out of time. Who was he to stop her from having a child? He was glad now that he hadn't stopped her, because that would have meant no Jack, and that didn't bear thinking about.

Hotch heard laughter coming from the room and knew that the caveman inside of him was wondering where the doctor's hands were right now. He knew that this was a ridiculous thought, and dismissed it through intellect and rationality, but then his mind went back to when his hands had been on Emily's skin, even an innocent part of her body, but his mind began to travel where his fingers hadn't.

He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the wall, hearing another laugh.

There was a fine line of being professional and not. It could easily be crossed and he had seen colleagues do just that. If nothing happened between himself and Emily, then the tension between them was likely to become uncomfortable. If something did happen, as seemed likely, and it grew, how would he cope in situations like today?

And that was where they would both have to compartmentalise like they hadn't done before. It was where respect and trust would be tested, and grow stronger with each test. Could they do it? Was that what she wanted?

She'd been hurt before, but he had no idea how much. Emily hadn't talked too much about past relationships, and he'd no idea how long they'd been, or how close. He wondered if it mattered, and then he wondered how much there was to find out about her and that drew a different kind of anticipation from him. He wanted more of her, on many levels, and that was the source of his frustration.

The door opened, and Emily spilled out, smiling and holding an x-ray. "You were right," she said as he stood up. "I've broken a small bone in my ankle, but it's healing fine." She smiled at him, and his hand went to her waist again. He felt her tense briefly and then relax.

"She has a prescription for painkillers and needs to rest it as much as possible over the next few days. Keep her office bound, Agent Hotchner," the doctor said. He gave a brief nod and retreated back into his room.

Hotch felt the urge to ask what she had been laughing at, but knew that would be an imposition and none of his business, so instead he removed his hand and took the x-ray, studying it as if he was an expert.

He could feel her looking at him, and knew she was wondering if he had some knowledge of anatomy that he hadn't shared with the rest of the team. Hotch glanced at her, trying to hold back a smile, and raised an eyebrow.

"That really doesn't mean anything to you, does it?" she said, taking back the x-ray and laughing. "You almost had me convinced you had another specialism."

He laughed, the way he'd used to laugh, before he'd known her, before Elle had left, before things had become strained with Haley, and it felt good. "I have many, but one is not interpreting x-rays. Shall we go up and see Sophie?"

Emily nodded. "Then let's go get that meal." The hand that wasn't carrying the x-ray brushed against his, the touch waking him and releasing a beam of light.

* * *

_Okay, lurkers! Delurk and let me know what you think!_

_Please review!_

_Sarah x_


	32. Chapter 32

_Okay. Time is not my friend at the moment and I'm going to have a mighty whinge now so I apologise in advance! Christmas means having to be nice to relatives and losing precious writing time; my evenings are choc-a-bloc with work and I like to be a couple of chapters in front so I will have something to post on a regular basis. Unfortunately, I am behind in my chapters because of a tediously hectic weekend..._

_This also explains why I have a backlog of review replies and I feel like an ignorant so and so. SO THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO HAS REVIEWED SO FAR! I will catch up at the weekend. If I get there... (I'm organising my staff do for 90 people, it happens on Friday and I'm so stressed I can't begin to explain.)_

_Now, I've done something naughtyish here. Chapter 32 is mammoth and if I post it all now, I won't be able to post again until Saturday at the soonest. So I divided it into two. If you would rather leave reviewing until after Chapter 33 (chapter 32b) then I understand, but I'd rather you didn't._

_I will definitely post on Friday now, and then Sunday, and then the epilogue on Tuesday. By that time I hope to be a couple of chapters into the sequel (if you're nice to me...) and will begin that on Christmas eve._

_Is that okay?_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'You have been my friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing. I wove my webs for you because I liked you. After all, what's a life, anyway? We're born, we live a little while, we die. A spider's life can't help being something of a mess, with all this trapping and eating flies. By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle. Heaven knows anyone's life can stand a little of that.'  
- E.B. White, _Charlotte's Web_

Chapter 32a

The hospital smell grew stronger as Hotch and Emily approached the ward that Sophie was on, memories of cut knees and antiseptic returning to Emily, and of memories of grandparents and relations being in hospital and the sadness that was packaged with it.

They'd managed to call in on Detective Winters on the way, finding her in intensive care and barely conscious after her time in the operating room. She'd managed a brief smile as her husband held her hand, before her eyes had closed and she'd delved back into nature's medicine of sleep.

Sophie was far more awake when they found her. She was in the room alone, sat cross-legged on her bed, reading the journal of the British Psychological Society.

"If I'd have known, I'd have brought you _TV Guide_," Emily said. "You could've caught up with Ausiello."

Sophie turned up her nose. "He's only interesting when he's got something to say about Supernatural," she said, putting the magazine down. "I'm really glad you've come. I've not really had many visitors today. Did you get to speak to Baker again?"

Emily sat on the chair at the foot of the bed, while Hotch pulled one over from Carla's said of the room. She nodded, unsure of exactly how much information she should divulge to Sophie at this point. There would be time later to tell her more, but for now her curiosity just had to be quenched. "Who's been to visit you, Sophie?" she said first, buying herself some time as well as finding out more about her would be protégé.

"A couple of girls from school came, but that's been it. The doctor wants to keep me in for a couple more days to make sure I'm healing, and so I can get some counselling," she looked at Emily with large eyes. "And I need to say thank you, don't I? Otherwise, I'd be looking up home remedies on the internet for massive headaches and fractured ribs."

Emily smiled, feeling a little embarrassed. She supposed the doctors had told Sophie why her mother hadn't had her discharged as she hadn't told them not to. "It's no problem. Has your mother been?"

Sophie shook her head. "She doesn't drive and she's been working all day today. She'll probably try to get up tomorrow. She did ring though." The happiness in her voice was false and Emily stood up and sat next to her on the bed, putting an arm around Sophie's shoulders.

"I'll come back in a bit," Hotch said, standing.

"No, stay, Agent Hotchner," Sophie said. "Pull your chair up."

Emily felt her heart almost break as she heard the loneliness in Sophie's voice. "Sophie," she said. "How about we talk about Baker some other time – when you're out of hospital. I know you're keen to understand why he did what he did, and I think that's a good thing, but let's wait till you're a hundred percent, hey?"

"But you won't be here then," Sophie said, glancing between Emily and Hotch. "I know you caught the two people responsible for the missing men, so you'll be going home tomorrow, won't you?"

Emily nodded. "Tomorrow or the day after. But I can email you, if you send me your address, and you have my number, so you can call me when you want."

Sophie looked at her strangely, almost with judgement in her eyes and Emily realised that she wasn't used to having people she could rely on. "Won't you be too busy?" she said. "You won't want a high school junior bothering you."

Emily shook her head, her hair bouncing around with the gesture's ferocity. She pushed it out of the way, behind her ears. "I need other things beside work, and although telling you about Baker, and maybe about stuff I do might be _about_ work, you can tell me what you're up to as well, which will be a break for me."

Sophie was silent for a moment, and Emily wondered what she was making of the offer. Maybe she didn't want such an intrusion on her life after all; maybe Emily was doing this for herself more than for Sophie. She glanced up at Hotch and saw that his expression was relaxed and calm – she knew he was reading the situation objectively and his physical reaction gave Emily a little more confidence that she was doing the right thing.

"I'd like that," Sophie said. "If that's okay with you and your boss." She looked over to Hotch who nodded.

"We just want you to get through this," he said. "You're a living reminder of why we do what we do, Sophie. You're a survivor."

She nodded, then her eyes went to the door. "I think this doctor is going to tell me that it's time I tried going to sleep."

A woman younger than Emily came in and nodded. "I'm afraid so." She looked at Hotch and Emily. "Visiting time was over a while ago, and Sophie really does need to get some rest."

Emily stood up and looked at the girl who seemed younger than her sixteen years in the pink striped pyjamas, with her hair back in a pony tail and no make-up. "I'll be in touch," she said as Sophie stood. She gave her a tentative hug, feeling sadness at having to leave her. "You still have my card?"

"Yes," Sophie said definitely. "I'll send you a message after I've seen the doctors tomorrow."

Emily smiled. "Make sure you do." She squeezed the girl's shoulder and made her way out of the room.

"Take care, Sophie," she heard Hotch say as he followed. "Are you okay?" he asked once they were out of earshot of the room's occupant.

Emily nodded. "I'm fine. And she will be fine too. Shall we find somewhere to eat?"

The half smile from him pushed away any emptiness inside, filling it with a soft glow, the burning of an ember that was threatening to catch fire.

* * *

JJ dabbed the sides of her mouth with a napkin and placed a hand on her now overfull stomach. They'd ordered enough Chinese should Hotch and Emily return, only it had now been demolished. All of it.

"So," Garcia said, looking equally full. "In order to take my mind off what has happened this afternoon, I demand we play a game."

Spencer looked concerned, and JJ swore she saw him edging closer to the door. "I'm not sure what games they'll have," he said, shooting Morgan and then JJ a concerned look.

"You don't need to worry, Spence," JJ said, taking Henry from Will, who wanted to reach over for some more food. She knew exactly what game Garcia was thinking of. "Penelope's not referring to charades or anything like that, are you Pen?"

Garcia shook her head. "You guessed correctly, my sweet JJ," she said. "I think we should play the what will Aaron and Emily eat tonight game."

"Well, it won't be Chinese because I think Will's just about finished it," Reid said, still looking confused. "We don't know where they're going after the hospital, so it's quite difficult to narrow it down given there's such a wide perimeter."

JJ saw Morgan eye Reid with disbelief. "Sometimes, man..." he said. "Penelope means why do we think Hotch and Emily have gone off on their own _again_ and what do we think the likely end scenario is going to be."

"I'd say the end scenario is likely to be something positive for both of them," Rossi said. "If they finally make it to an end scenario."

JJ raised her eyebrows at Rossi. "You don't think this will go anywhere?"

Rossi shrugged. "Look at what you've got in the equation. An alpha male with relationship issues who happens to be a workaholic and a female who has had zero success with relationships in the past, who happens to be the male's subordinate. On paper, it doesn't make for a romance novel."

There was a silence as the rest of the team digested this along with their food. They hadn't been the words that JJ was expecting, and she looked at Rossi quizzically. "You think they'll end up backing-out?"

Garcia shook her head. "If cupid doesn't strike them in the next few days then I have a scenario prepared where they'll spend some time in a locked room, somewhere remote, with only one bed."

"I think Hotch is very unsure as to how a relationship would work out while they are colleagues, which is understandable," Reid said, Garcia's suggestion having completely by-passed him. "He's under Strauss' microscope as it is, and dating Emily would make her question his professionalism."

"Then we just have to make sure Strauss doesn't find out," Morgan said. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her, and therefore won't hurt Hotch or Emily."

Rossi pulled out the last prawn cracker from the bag. "I think it's best that we don't know anything either." He crunched on the cracker. "Both of them are private people, Hotch more so than Emily, and they may feel better about encroaching on a relationship if they think we're oblivious to it."

Morgan nodded. "I agree. If they think that the impact on us will be minimal it gives them less of an excuse, especially Hotch."

"I can't see Hotch backing out of this now, anyway," Reid said, drinking orange juice through a straw once he'd finished his insight.

"Why's that?" JJ said as Henry threw his toy plastic keys on the floor. She bent down to pick them up. "Hotch seems to have been giving out mixed signals for days to Emily."

Morgan sat back in his chair, looking rather full. "I think Reid's right. Hotch will have been debating what to do in his mind for since he identified what he feels. He won't have let Emily have any idea of his feelings until he was sure he was going to act on them."

A large sigh came from Garcia. "So, my wonderful collection of Cupid killers, you are saying that we have to ignore what's going on, pretend we don't know and not interfere? You really want to spoil my fun, don't you?"

"You can gush from afar, Garcia," JJ said, smiling. Henry was now trying to chew the keys again, this time leaning against her chest and seeming to settle down. "How long do you think Hotch's known about this?" she looked at Rossi. Morgan had discovered an extra tray of something deep inside one of the bags and seemed to be deciding whether to eat it all or let Reid partake in some of it. Reid was hovering, his eyes flitting between the Szechuan vegetables and Morgan's face, trying to determined whether or not he was likely to share in the find.

"He knew before Colorado," Rossi said. "And, I would never say this to Aaron, but I suspect he was attracted to her from when she joined the BAU, maybe from when he knew her before."

Morgan moved the tray in between him and Reid, narrowly avoiding the outbreak of world war three. "Maybe that was why he was against her joining the team."

Rossi shook his head. "We talked once about it. He'd felt undermined and sure that there was a conspiracy going on, but he said it has been nothing personal against Emily. No, I think he found her attractive and that may have cast doubts on his own feelings for Haley – about which he would have already been having doubts, don't get me wrong."

"What makes you think he knew how he felt before Colorado?" Reid said, pausing with his fork full of food.

"How can you possibly eat any more?" Rossi said, glaring at the food. "I hope Hotch and Emily _are_ going elsewhere to eat and aren't banking on us having saved them any." He looked around the table. "He was mortified that you were both in there, Reid, but there was something in his expression when he talked about Emily that gave him away, although I don't think he realised."

Morgan nodded. "It makes sense that it's been awhile. It explains why he's partnered himself with her so much, although I thought that was because they worked well together."

"And doesn't that tell you something," JJ said, as Henry dropped the keys again, this time because he was asleep. "If you work well with someone, then you're going to get along in other aspects too."

Reid looked up from the tray that Morgan had now handed completely over to him. "Although Morgan and I work well together, and I don't think we'll be embarking on any form of relationship any time soon."

A general laugh echoed through the room. "You two are the old, bickering couple of the BAU," JJ said. "And speaking of couples, where's Katie tonight?"

Reid looked a little embarrassed. "She's one of the officers keeping an eye on the farm."

Morgan's eyes danced. "Otherwise you'd be over at her place again, getting..."

"Derek, leave Reid alone," Garcia said, intervening just in time. "Anyway, I, for one, am going to retire. It has been a traumatic day and I need to reacquaint myself with all things fluffy and light before I try to sleep."

Morgan stood up as Garcia did. "You sure you'll be okay, baby girl?" he said. "I can take your floor, you know."

Garcia smiled at him. "Now, Derek. You know I've been shot at in the past. I think been taken hostage is going to pale in comparison. Good night, sweet dreams!" she said, almost gliding out of the room leaving a mist of some sweet floral fragrance.

JJ stood, Henry in her arms. "I think we're heading in the same direction. Can I leave you boys to play nice?"

Rossi shrugged. "I'm going to give the hospital a call and speak to Jolene. See if she wants picking up. I trust we can leave Derek and Spencer without supervision?"

They were met with identical glares.

JJ passed Henry to Will, and left the room following Rossi. They could hear Reid and Morgan, as they walked, just catching odd words, as Morgan continued to tease Reid about Katie. JJ rolled her eyes, wondering when the two would finally call it quits, and actually hoping they would never do so. There was really only so much change their team could take over a small period of time.

Will unlocked their door, the sound almost reminding her of home. JJ felt the proverbial weight lifting from her shoulders, knowing that in less than forty eight hours, the click would be that of her own front door, and she could enjoy at least a night sleeping under her own covers, in her own home with the nightmares over for a short while. Until the next one began.

* * *

_So what are Hotch and Emily up to... hmmm._

_I hope this is okay, reading it back through I'm not 100% happy with it, but I really want to get it up tonight!_

_Please review... and you lurkers who delurked, thank you – please continue with the delurking!_

_Sarah x_


	33. Chapter 33

_Once again, thank you for the reviews. I apologise for the shortness of the last chapter – like I said, it was originally one with this, but I'm buying myself some time._

_I will do the review replies on Saturday or Sunday, when I actually have time to breathe without feeling as if I have a ton of bricks on my shoulders! _

_There's an author's note at the bottom of this chapter – please read after you've read the chapter, but do read it – you'll understand why._

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'Food is our common ground, a universal experience.'  
- James Beard

Chapter 32b

Night time had covered Calverville Point with a deep hush and a black sheet speckled with stars. There was a stillness that Hotch hadn't felt until now; the rush of needing to find the UnSubs having now ceased, a job done and almost complete. Tomorrow, he and his team would spend some time interviewing Annabel Palmer and visiting the crime scene, logging details into their databases and compiling notes to be used to help profile killers in the future. But for now, he owned the night, and it wasn't profiling, or Haley, or Strauss that preoccupied him: it was the woman sat next to him, lip synching along to some old country song that was playing on the tinny radio station they'd managed to pick up.

He felt himself smile inside and tried to show it externally, but it didn't come that easy anymore. He was out of practise with showing emotion, having tried to bury it as far away from the surface as possible over the last few years, needing to maintain a distance between him and anyone else in his life. Apart from Jack. Jack was unconditional, he was safe with Jack. He knew what he needed to be for his son, even if sometimes he couldn't be everything he wanted.

But it was hard to know that he wasn't going to let anyone down. That he would somehow fail in what he was meant to provide somebody with, and now that there was a person who he wanted to relied upon by, he wasn't quite sure how to break the stony exterior that he had built. "I didn't take you for a country music lover," he said, glancing at Emily.

She smiled the wide, full smile that he found, to his delight, made him smile back quite naturally. "I'm not, particularly. This song was played a lot by one of my roommates when I was at college. After the twentieth time, or so, I definitely knew all the lyrics."

"I had a roommate who was a big fan of a country singer called Butch Baker. Every night, for about a month he'd play the same track over and over again. Eventually something nasty happened to the record and he moved onto punk," Hotch said.

"And you didn't have anything to do with the record's demise?" Emily smiled at him again.

"I knew nothing about it," he said, deadpan. The record had ended up being used as a Frisbee for a friend's dog, the roommate discovering it some weeks after with teeth marks stopping it from ever being played again. Thankfully. "There's a little restaurant in about half a mile. Do you fancy going there?"

She nodded. "I noticed it on the way here. It looked okay. Nice and quiet."

He almost missed the turn off for it, so dark was the road and the night. Emily spotted it at almost the last second and Hotch swerved into the parking lot, managing to retain control of the vehicle as they travelled over a patch of ice.

She waited for him this time before getting out of the vehicle, and he found that he relished the excuse to be physically close to her, to touch her. And he didn't allow himself to feel guilt, or think that what he was doing was wrong. Because it wasn't.

He wrapped an arm around her waist as they stepped across the icy ground. She had been told to be careful when walking on the ankle and this way she could bear some of her weight onto him. He felt her arm slip around his waist and a little bit of the wall fell away. "This place looks open at least," she said as they reached the building. Through the window they could see two or three couples and group of four, all dining. It looked warm inside, the open fire casting dancing shadows over the room, and there were a couple of booths that would give some privacy.

As Hotch opened the door for Emily to enter he felt a jolt of nerves, a strange sensation that he'd experienced rarely, even when he and Haley had first begun dating. Was this two colleagues grabbing a meal on the way back from one of their jobs, or was it two people who felt something? Or a combination of both?

"Does this feel weird to you?" Emily said as they stepped inside. The heat indoors took his breath away for a moment; its contrast with the cold outside was rather sharp.

He nodded. "It does feel a little different. But that doesn't mean I want to walk out of here."

"Good," she said, simply. "I'm hungry and -" she studied him for a moment. "I want to see where this goes."

A waitress met them, taking their coats and smiling. "Go chose your table," she said. "It's a quiet night as most folks have stayed in 'cause of the weather. I'll be with you in a minute with menus."

Hotch's glance met Emily's and they made their way to the booth the furthest out of the way. He wanted somewhere private; somewhere they could talk, and be almost alone. His mind had begun to wander as to what would happen when they were alone and somewhere completely secluded. They were both very much adults, adults with no attachments, and an attraction between them that promised a release into light when they finally acted upon it. Best to avoid being alone in rooms. For a short while anyway. Just so they – she - could be sure.

"I don't think I have ever felt such a sense of relief," Emily said, sitting down and resting her head against the wooden back of the seat. The restaurant was all wood, old and dark and fitting with the outside scenery. He liked it.

"Some cases are like that," Hotch said. "They feel as if they are lasting forever, and when they finally end you find a weight's been lifted. I wish we could fly home to Quantico and have a few rest days, but I think that's unlikely."

"We have another case?" she said, looking more exhausted at the suggestion.

He nodded. "There's an urgent one in Utah. I'm going to give out the files on the flight tomorrow, then we'll have a night at home, and set off the following day."

"Aren't we better flying straight from here? The travelling time will be less," she pulled her hair into a pony tail with her hands, then let it fall back over her shoulders.

"I think the team needs the opportunity to see home. Utah sounds like it could be another long one," he looked at her; dark hair on porcelain skin, red lips and brown eyes that matched his own. Physically, she was much different from Haley, but then he'd never had a type, as such. "I think Dave will stay here, and meet us in Utah. He seems fairly keen on Jolene."

"Wife number four?" Emily said, raising her eyebrows.

Hotch mimicked her expression subconsciously. "I don't think Dave will remarry. In his own words; it spoils a perfectly good relationship."

The waitress came by and dropped down a couple of menus. "Can I get you something to drink?" she said.

"Just a soda water," Emily said, picking up the menu.

"I'll have the same, but with lime." Hotch nodded at the waitress who smiled as she left them to make their choices.

"I think Dave will surprised himself some day," Emily said, looking at the main courses. "He's an old romantic at heart." She placed the menu down and looked at him with arms now folded. "And are you an old romantic?"

Her question jolted him from the menu. He hadn't expected anything so direct, although he knew he shouldn't be surprised. Emily was not known for being subtle. "I have my moments," he said, his voice not belying any emotion. And then he felt her foot next to his under the table and moved his eyes quickly back to the menu as he felt her skin against his. "Emily..." he warned.

She laughed, stopping her bare foot's journey up his leg, but still retaining contact between them. "I did that to Reid once when we went out for dinner. Morgan and I had a bet about who could get him to shut up first when we got him on the topic of Star Trek. I won."

For a moment, he felt a little insecure, as if what she had just done may also be for a bet. The stony barricade around him resumed position.

"_That_ wasn't part of any wager, Aaron." Her eyes were soft now, the dance in them having left when she'd somehow read his thoughts.

"How did you know what I was thinking?" he said, almost unnerved by her insight. He knew how to make himself unreadable, to opposing lawyers, to murderers, to anyone, but she still managed it. How?

Emily shrugged. "Because I would have thought the same thing," she said. "And, you can't spend so much time with a person and not be able to read their mind. I know what you're going to choose from the menu too."

He sat back and folded his arms, his body language issuing a challenge.

"Red pepper and tomato soup, followed by the steak Diane, cooked medium rare with sweet potatoes and red cabbage." She looked at him triumphantly.

"You're having the soup too, but with shepherd's pie for main. I've never known you not order that when it's been on the menu," he said quietly, allowing himself to move forward again, closing the gap between them across the table.

She made eye contact and then glanced away before returning her gaze. It was body language one-oh-one, and he almost wondered if she had done it on purpose: show interest with a glance, act demur and coy, then resume interest.

"It's warming and filling," she said. "And generally a safe choice as it is difficult to mess up. Even I can make it." The dance in her eyes began again.

"I can't imagine you cooking," Hotch said. "I don't know why, but I can't picture you in a kitchen, following a recipe."

Emily laughed. "I do sometimes. I'm not good with recipes, as I kind of like to do my own thing, so experiments can be interesting sometimes. But what I make is usually passable. I can, however, see you as being quite good in the kitchen."

He heard the wickedness in her voice and gave her a sly smile. "I like to cook – when I have someone to cook for. Making dinner for one isn't the same."

She nodded. "My meals generally consist of something quick and easy, or that's been made by Benny's Pizza Palace. It's worrisome when I dial them up and they recognise my voice and ask if I want 'the usual'."

Hotch did laugh now, her story sounding familiar. "I have a very similar conversation with the owner of the Thai take-out near me. In fact, a couple of times I've eaten in their back room when they've taken pity on me finding dinner so late."

"And probably looking as if you have the weight of the world on your shoulders," Emily said, looking accusingly at him. "Anyway, I bet my pizza place is better than your Thai."

"There's only one way to find out," he said, that wall falling faster than he thought was possible. Warmth was building inside him, one that contained a fraction of hope, that the nights and rare days off may not be so lonely in the future.

"We might have to sample each a couple of times before we're able to make a judgment. You have to try the Bella Bianca and Benny's special, at least. And you definitely can eat both in one sitting. In fact I defy anyone to even finish a 12 inch, thin crust Bianca in one go," she looked at him with such a serious expression on her face that he couldn't help but match it.

"You know what, Emily? You've never seen me when I'm hungry," Hotch folded his arms and sat back, issuing the challenge.

"Aaron, if you can eat a whole Bella Bianca as specified, then I will buy you a meal at the restaurant of your choice. Are we agreed?" she said, raising her chin. She was enjoying this little game, and he realised that he was too.

"Agreed," he said, as the waitress appeared with their drinks.

"Are you ready to order?" she said, taking out a note pad.

Hotch nodded, ordering for both of them. It was an action that Emily could have taken as being chauvinistic, but given her upbringing and the fact that she was a strong enough woman to not be insulted by the gesture, he felt confident in doing it. It was the same with opening doors; he recalled hearing one or two women in the past complaining as they took the action as meaning they weren't capable, when it was simply an act of politeness and courtesy.

They spent the next half hour discussing more general issues; a new presidential policy, an appeal from a killer they'd put away two years ago, Reid's phobia of take-offs and landings and Emily's time in England. He barely noticed the starter, apart from realising at one point that it tasted good, and that the bread that had accompanied it was freshly made. She was good company, although he'd known that already. Now it was different. They were eating alone together and talking because they wanted to, rather than it being because of circumstances. He knew that some of the team socialised outside of work – it was difficult to not form close friendships given the nature of their job and the need to communicate with someone who had those shared experiences. As the boss, he'd distanced himself more, but now – now was the time to lessen the gap. He wasn't going to lose his authority and their respect by laughing once in a while, and maybe making them laugh. Making Emily laugh.

"So," he said, once their main course had appeared. The restaurant had little sense of urgency and it was already past ten pm. "Where do you work?"

For a second she looked at him in confusion, then smiled. "I'm a profiler for the Behavioural Analysis Unit at the FBI. You?"

"Funny – that's my job too. What's your boss like?" He took a mouthful of the steak as he watched her expression, waiting for her response.

She shrugged, tilting her head to one side. "Well, you know, he can be a little intense sometimes. Stays too late at the office and some days he really can be quite grouchy."

"And his bad points?"

She laughed loudly. "Well, he has terrible taste in women, and definitely uses his position of power to try and seduce them." Her eyes seemed darker, their brown depths more tempting to fall into.

"I heard one of his subordinates is trying to take advantage of him. Using her womanly wiles and powers of seduction to boost her way up the career ladder. And she's very into politics too – wants to head up the FBI," he said, his tone flat and serious.

"Really?" Emily said. "I think I know who you mean."

Hotch nodded. "The nerdy one. Or rather she pretends to be a nerd in order to wind men around her little finger. Says she's not had a date in months, but she's too beautiful for that." He maintained eye contact with her for his last sentence, letting his voice become sincere. Emily fell quiet, biting her lips together.

"I'm not used to compliments," she said. "Not unless it's from someone who's interested in one thing, whether that be an introduction into politics or my bed." They were crossing another line, narrowing the distance between professional and personal. He had a feeling that these lines were going to be crossed quickly now they had started. "And I really haven't had a date in months."

"But that's not because you haven't had offers," Hotch said. "Steve Jennison from HRT has almost definitely tried to make a move, and I've seen a man called Ray McCaffrey hit on you three times in the bar after work." He knew he was giving himself away now.

"And you've had a couple of rather attractive ladies sniffing around you as well. In fact," she moved closer to him across the table, narrowly avoiding dipping her cuff in the gravy. "One of them would have happily gone home with either of us."

Hotch laughed quietly, closing the rest of the distance between them. There was no one there to overhear them, no one that mattered, and the rest of the diners were too far away. But it was an excuse to move closer. He could smell her perfume, her trademark scent, the fragrance he still had on his pillow, and definitely in his head. "Who was that?"

"Maria Thomas. She was the one hanging around you with masses of red hair. I think she may have suggested you needed to relax some and her massages would do the, er, trick," her eyes danced mischievously as she recalled the incident. "A couple of weeks later she suggested pretty much the same thing to me. I didn't accept the offer."

Hotch raised his eyebrows and almost choked on the piece of steak in his mouth. "Does Morgan know about this?" he said, not letting his imagination go anywhere.

Emily shook her head. "I don't think that would be wise. Derek's got at least three numbers on his hottie speed dial list at the moment, and he really couldn't handle any more." Her tone was dry, her eyes shining.

"Maybe we should introduce her to Reid," Hotch said, enjoying this bit of gossip. It wasn't something he normally engaged in, but this was harmless enough, and after the events of the day, of the past few days, it was light.

"I don't think they need much introducing. If the rumours are true then they met shortly after Reid first joined the BAU, but that is top secret information. Not even Garcia knows that," Emily eyed him, a mock warning in her look.

"Your secrets are safe with me," he said, unable to keep the sincerity out of his voice.

"I'm stuffed," she said, taking a final bite as a little quiet fell between them while they finished what they wanted of their meals. "You want to try some?"

Hotch nodded, pulling her plate towards him and taking a few bites with his fork. "It's good."

"Mine's better," she said with no trace of ego. "It is good though. I notice you've eaten all of your steak." She looked predatorily at his plate.

"I'll save you some next time. And you are really setting your culinary skills on a pedestal," he said quietly, gesturing to the waitress for the tab. "I hate to end this evening, but we should get back. The others will be wondering where we've got to."

Emily nodded. "Oh, they'll be wondering alright. I can just imagine the predictions," she smiled, chinking her empty glass against his. "And we can have this night again." She stood up as he did, stretching.

"And we have the drive home," Hotch said, realising that he hadn't smiled as much as he had done that evening since he'd last spent a day with Jack.

"We do," she said. "And by the time we get back, everyone will probably have gone to their rooms."

He nodded. "Let's hope so."

Emily was sure Hotch drove deliberately slowly back to the motel, seemingly taking his time, their conversation fluctuating between Annabel and Mallory and the country music that was still playing. Granted, they didn't have the same urgency as they had before, there were no appointments to get to or people to see, but it was almost midnight by the time he'd put the car in the parking lot and helped her out.

His touch was definite and assured; the arm around her waist not simply there to support her, it was there to keep her close, and for the first time she let her guard down. Hotch wasn't there to hurt her, or let her down and now they were sharing the same book she knew he wouldn't try and scuttle back into his shell. He wouldn't have been like he was tonight if he didn't want something to come from this _thing_ between them.

"It's quiet," she said, as they walked down the hallway to their rooms. "I guess we have escaped everyone." She felt relieved. Although she did appreciate JJ and Garcia's support, she didn't want to end the night with a scene by scene autopsy.

"It's been a long day," Hotch said. His arm was still there even though it was now carpet underfoot instead of snow and ice. "I hope Garcia's okay. She's had quite a trauma today."

"Penelope's tougher than she makes out, Aaron," Emily said. "And she has Morgan here with her now, and Kevin when she gets home. She will be fine."

They stopped walking as they reached her door. She had thought about asking him in, for coffee, but it wouldn't end up being for coffee – not after a day like they'd had, and the evening they'd spent together.

Hotch moved his arm away from her, turning to face her. "And are you okay after today?"

She nodded. "It's in a box now. And tonight has made this day a better memory." She worried that her openness would make her seem desperate, but she didn't want to conceal it.

"Same here," he said quietly. "I'll see you in the morning."

Their eyes locked, and she felt the air fill with anticipation.

"You know, Morgan's probably just about to open his door," she said, a whisper breaking the air.

Hotch nodded. "And JJ's probably just about to go check on Garcia."

They both smiled. "I'll see you in the morning," Emily said, breaking the gaze and turning to unlock her door, hoping that next time JJ would have the sense to book her and Hotch on a different floor.

"Sleep well," she heard him say as he brushed her waist with his hand, walking to his own room.

She closed her eyes in frustration, remembering old sayings about good things coming to those who wait and so on.

It was going to have to be very good. Very good indeed.

* * *

_Author's note: DO NOT THROW YOUR VEGETABLES..._

_I'll explain why there was no kiss, and it's quite simple. If they had've kissed, they'd have ended up in Emily's room, and neither of them are ready for that yet. It's not long off – that I can assure you of (as in early next story) – but when I wrote this chapter, the characters just wouldn't go there, and if I had've made them, it would have read awkwardly._

_As Emily thinks – good things come to those who wait, and it will be very good indeed when it happens. And unfortunately, those characters will decide when it happens!_

_Don't flame me, but do review!_

_Two more chapters to go..._

_Sarah x_


	34. Chapter 34

_Thank you to my super beta __**Lily Moonlight**__ for the rapid job she did with this! Also thank you to those who reviewed the last couple of chapters. I should be doing review replies today at some point. There's one more chapter to go, and then a new story will start. I am hoping to post it very soon after Calverville Point finished and I'll let you know the title in the next chapter. I can tell you – especially for those who are anxiously waiting for a hotter moment or two between H and P, that that will come early on in the new story..._

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'Maybe this is why so many serial killers work in pairs. It's nice not to feel alone in a world full of victims or enemies. It's no wonder Waltraud Wagner, the Austrian Angel of Death, convinced her friends to kill with her.  
It just seems natural. You and me against the world...'  
- Chuck Palahniuk

Chapter 33

Fourteen bodies had been recovered so far, the oldest remains dating back almost four years. The farm house and the surrounding buildings had the same atmosphere as a cemetery, and Morgan felt the cold, haunting eeriness that he remembered from other places of brutal torture. The atmosphere was affecting them all as they walked around, speaking with the pathologist, and the forensic anthropologist who had been drafted in. The place was hung with death. A freshly carved pumpkin by the front door gave a macabre touch, and Morgan wondered why he hadn't noticed it the day before. Had it only been yesterday when they had been here? It felt like a week ago.

"We've got some information we'd like to pass onto all your team," Morgan heard the pathologist say to Hotch. "It may help you with your profiling."

Hotch gathered everyone quickly, a silent signal sent between them that called them all together. It wasn't telepathy, just a reading of body language, an awareness of others.

They stood in the lounge of the house, its pristine neatness almost another person in the room, waiting for the pathologist's announcement. He looked at them, a faint etching of disgust on his face. "I've never seen anything like this, and I hope I never do again," he said, taking his glasses away from his face and cleaning them with a small cloth. "The evidence of torture was the worst I've ever seen. What these men went through..." he shook his head, pausing while regaining some composure. "It will be detailed in my report - I'll have a preliminary one sent to you tomorrow. However, what you should be aware of now is that we have found signs of cannibalism on several of the skeletons, and on the most recent victims."

Morgan felt his stomach turn, the healthy breakfast he'd consumed that morning suddenly feeling heavy and cumbersome. They'd dealt with cannibalism before in several cases, but it never sat well.

"Thank you," Hotch said, giving the pathologist a brief nod. The man left the building, looking several years older than he had done when Morgan had first met him. Hotch turned to them, his expression stoic as usual. "Let's spend another hour or so here, and then we'll head back to the station and interview Annabel."

Morgan followed Emily up the stairs into the master bedroom. She was clearly focused on finding out more about Mallory and Annabel as a couple and the relationship between them. "What you thinking?" he said, as she stood at the foot of the bed with her hands on her hips.

"We had Mallory down as the dominant partner. What if we're wrong?" she said, moving toward the side of the bed away from the window.

"It would be unusual. In male-female killing teams, the male is almost always the dominant," Morgan said, taking the other side.

"Almost always," Emily said. She pulled out the drawer in the bedside table and sat it on the floral bedspread. "This is Annabel's side. He sleeps near the window, she takes the door side. And we have a variety of sex toys in here. Nice." She held up a couple of the items, crinkling her nose.

"Mallory's got pretty much what you'd expect in here. Condoms, lubricant, batteries, _a bible._ Nothing too unexpected. Let's check the wardrobes," Morgan walked around the bed to where a set of fitted wardrobes were. He pulled open the doors, Emily joining him. The clothing was minimal: suits, slacks, shirts, then jeans and dresses, with a few sweaters.

"Nothing that you wouldn't expect," Emily said. "To all intents and purposes they are absolutely normal people. They just appear to have a penchant for killing men."

"Two separate lives?" Morgan said. "We should try another room. I can't see there not being something that shows a deviant personality, other than the corpses out there." He glanced out of the window, seeing Reid and Hotch talking outside one of the farm buildings. "Why did they keep the bodies?"

"Because they were family," Emily said, closing the wardrobe doors. "It's reciprocal behaviour. What was done to her, she did back as revenge."

"You think she instigated the torture?" Morgan stepped away from the window, frowning.

"I think she played as big a role as Mallory did. I also don't think they directly killed them, I think the men probably died of their wounds." Emily wandered to the door. "Or it got to the point where there was no point in torturing them anymore as the men just wanted to die."

Morgan followed her into the second bedroom where the carpet was thread bare, the bedstead wrought iron with plain sheets and old blankets. "This looks a little different," he said, walking straight over to the walk in closet. "Emily." He gestured for her to join him, and she peered inside.

"Some of those look homemade," she said, pointing to a unit full of whips and handcuffs and other devices designed to inflict pain. "And the outfits..."

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "She's certainly not submissive wearing those..."

"You know, it's amazing what you can tell about a girl from her wardrobe," Emily said, turning away.

"Yeah?" Morgan looked at her. "And what does your wardrobe say about the secret side of Emily?" He couldn't omit the teasing note from his voice.

"It says that that side is going to stay secret. We should go have a look round outside. This carpet's making me feel itchy," she looked at it in disgust, rubbing the sole of her boot against the material. "So, Derek, do you never assess your potential dates by judging their wardrobe?"

He laughed softly. "I try to see past such trivialities," he said, his eyes challenging her for a strong reaction.

"You're too busy getting to know the person inside then?" her voice oozed with sarcasm. "Or it's the bare skin that does it for you."

"A little of both." They went down the stairs, passing two of the officers. Mallory's colleagues were exuding a quiet sense of shock at the events of yesterday, and Emily could understand why. They had trusted Mallory, even if they had found him rather odd. He had been one of them. Now their thoughts on other colleagues were challenged, opinions being reconsidered and it would be a long time before confidence would grow back to what it was.

Hotch was still outside with Reid, the cold wind whistling around the barns and outhouses. Morgan shivered, still not over the cold he had caught and wishing for a couple of rest days, days just spent at the BAU, looking through files and completing overdue paperwork. But he knew it wasn't going to happen.

"It's strange up there," Emily said, standing next to Hotch. Morgan suppressed a smile. To anyone outside of the BAU, they were colleagues who got along well, but he saw something else; their eyes held a glance a little too long, their bodies automatically turned into each other. "Two bedrooms, two lives. She was in control, Hotch. Mallory said it was all him, but, it wasn't. She was the dominant UnSub."

Hotch nodded. "Take a look at the bodies and where they were found." He gestured to the barn to his right. "It will be interesting to see if we can get Annabel to talk about her childhood at some point."

Emily nodded and looked at Morgan. He gave a slight nod and turned towards the barn, beginning to tread on the impacted snow to walk over there. The surrounding fields were still full of a crisp whiteness, innocent snow, untainted by the evil that had taken place at the farm, yet underneath their feet the snow was sullied with grey grit, the dirt from the feet of the officers and crime scene techs mirroring the darkness that had been carried out there.

The skeletal remains of four of the missing men had been uncovered in the barn, numbers flagging points of evidence. Morgan walked up to the closest and stood in front, almost as if at an alter. Glancing at the other remains, he could see that they had all been laid down in the same direction, their heads towards the large barn door. Next to the bones lay a series of objects; a small teddy-bear, a metal spoon and a bible.

"It's the same next to each one."

Morgan jumped at the sudden interruption to his thoughts and turned his head to see Rossi there, his hands in his pockets, looking unperturbed at the sights around him. Morgan knew that he wore the same expression; he had seen grimmer sights as well, but Rossi now seemed to accept such crimes as an everyday occurrence. Morgan was glad that he could still see scenes that broke the mould, that he was still a novice in comparison to Rossi, but he also knew that one day he would be the profiler looking at a scene that he had seen before.

"Who do you think left them? Him or her?" Morgan said, crouching down and picking up the Bible with gloved hands.

"Probably her," Rossi said. "It will be something to do with being kept in this barn herself. It could well be remorse."

"Maybe that's why the bodies weren't disposed of elsewhere," Morgan said. "She felt guilty, so she kept them here where she could visit them. This bible looks new on the cover, but it's clearly been read in places as the spine's cracked."

"And it would have been logical for Mallory. Here the bodies wouldn't be discovered and he didn't have the hassle of transporting them anywhere. No one who visited – if anyone ever did – would have found the bodies. Each one so far has been shielded by bales of hay and loose straw," Rossi crouched beside Morgan and took the bible that Morgan offered. "The Gospel according to Mark – that's where the spine is broken. The parables – she's trying to teach them. I imagine Annabel will know the story of Jesus blessing the little children. Comfort food when a child is on their own and abandoned."

"So the remorse isn't for the men, but for herself and what was done to her as a child. She takes revenge on the men when they are alive, and mourns her own loss of innocence after they have died," Morgan looked up at Rossi. "So we're getting our heads around Annabel, but what about Mallory. He can't be completely submissive. He's likely to the one administering the torture."

Rossi nodded. "I don't think Annabel is totally dominant, but I think he doted on her enough to do her bidding. I would imagine that there was some violence, probably violent sex, in the relationship, as she wouldn't have formed a relationship with a totally passive male as she's never been used to that."

"She's going to be studied for years," Morgan said, standing up and stretching. Emily was wandering back over to them, her expression neutral.

"I've seen enough," she said, looking between Morgan and Rossi. "We're going to be looking over this case for months, and I don't think we'll ever get to the bottom of it." She sighed heavily. "Is there any sign of the mayor's son?"

Rossi shook his head. "None of the remains match his description."

Emily nodded slowly. "He'll re-emerge as soon as it's safe. I just hope Winters has his guts for whatever it is he's done. I hate it when people in power think that they are above the law." Morgan saw her glance over at the four sets of remains. "At least their families will get some sense of closure now."

"And Calverville Point can go back to being a picturesque tourist town," Rossi said. "Or it can try to, at least."

"So you're not intending on decamping here?" Morgan said as the three of them made their way of the wooden building, the old hay crunching beneath their feet. "Working on your culinary skills in Jolene's kitchen?"

Rossi laughed. "You know, Derek, sometimes things are better left unspoilt." And with that, he headed off towards the cars, leaving Emily and Morgan to ponder the meaning of his words, and whether he actually meant anything at all.

* * *

"Detective Mallory died yesterday," Reid said, hoping to gain an immediate response.

None came.

"He was shot. I thought you'd want to know." He studied her face for a reaction, but it remained blank. Expressionless.

"Annabel," he held his gaze, staring into the cold eyes that were giving nothing away. "He's dead. Do you understand?"

"He knew what would happen once you found out what we were doing," she said. Her voice was eerily calm, as if she was reciting a line from a script. "He would never go to jail."

"You don't seem upset," Reid said. "Why's that?"

"You tell me."

"I'd rather you did the talking."

She sat up straighter, tossing her hair away from her face in a gesture that could have been seductive if he hadn't known what she did to the men she captivated. "What am I, Agent Reid?"

"Actually, it's Dr Reid. And as to what you are – what do you think you are?" Her eyes darkened at his words and he felt a shiver of fear run through him.

"I'm a killer, but you know that already. You should find the bodies of sixteen men. Their wallets are in the drawer underneath the bed in the third bedroom. That will assist you in identifying them. None of them is the mayor's son. Why don't you elaborate? Tell me what else I am?" She challenged him, her head tipping to one side.

Reid paused, looking at her with amusement, or at least false amusement. He felt as if he was prey, already entangled in her web. "You're a sociopath, probably because of your mother's death and your later upbringing. You have no empathy for anyone else, including Mallory. You will show no remorse for what you have done, because you feel none. You think only of yourself, and how best to serve your desires. Did you have sex with the men you took?"

She smiled, her eyes telling secrets. Reid knew she had, she would have forced them to, made their bodies give them away.

"Did Mallory watch?" he said, already knowing the answer.

"No," she said. "He didn't know I did it. One of them tried to tell him once, so I circumcised him." She was calm, as if she had just told Reid that she had offered him sweets. "Not like a normal circumcision though."

"Why did you keep the bodies?"

She looked away from him, at the wall. "I felt sorry for them."

Reid shook his head. "No, you felt sorry for yourself. Every one of those men you killed was taken in revenge for the parts of yourself that died during your childhood. You were mourning your own loss, that of yourself. The bible you put next to each of the men, and the passage you read – that comforted you as a child. The spoon; that was probably because it reminded you of your mother, how she used to heat up her drug of choice. And the stuffed bear – comfort. That's what you would have with you when you were banished to the barn and locked in. The men were given the same punishments as you were."

"So I'm a bad person. Maybe I was born that way, or maybe I became that way. You'll never know, really, will you? You'll never know why I lack the thing you call 'humanity'? But _Dr_ Reid, I am a human." She leaned forward, close enough that he could feel her breath when she spoke. "Why do I exist? Why wasn't I able to get through the shit that was my childhood and come out of it a nice person? I'm not the only one to have had a fucking awful time, but I'm one of the few who became worse than the things that made me?

"You told me my lover was dead and I gave you no reaction. I feel nothing. Except maybe disappointment for myself. If he'd managed to stay alive he'd have taken the blame, but your team had to kill him. I remember the day he took two of your colleagues up a few hills to look at dump sites. He told me about them and I wondered what it would be like run my fingers up the legs of an FBI agent and make them scream so loudly their lungs would burst. What do you think, Dr Reid? Could I make you scream?"

He felt her leg press against his and he moved away with a cough. She smiled, predatorily. She was aware of the effect she was having.

"We found evidence of cannibalism on some of the remains. Did you both take part in that?" he said, wanting to move the topic of conversation away, and get out of there as soon as he could. He wasn't comfortable, even though he knew he was safe. Any move she made would result in at least two officers coming into the room, and probably Morgan and Hotch too.

"We both did. And if you want to know why, then the answer is why not? The men had already been inside of me."

"Did Mallory rape the men as well?" Reid asked, no sign of his disgust visible.

Annabel laughed. "There wasn't much he didn't do." She rested her head in her hands, her elbows on the table. "I'm perfectly sane, Dr Reid. I know that I will die because of what I've done, and some people will say I'll go to hell, that I'm a monster for what I did. But you know, it was _fun_, Dr Reid. Fun. Maybe you should have some of that at some time. I could show you." She licked her lips. "If you're not too busy fucking your little detective girlfriend. Mallory told me about you and her. He used to show me photos from crime scenes, of those butchered girls. They made me hot. Do things like that turn you on, Dr Reid? Is that why you hunt people like me? It gets you off? What gets you off, Reid? Will you think about me when you get to your hotel room? How will you feel when you talk about me with your colleagues, give lectures on what I did?"

"It's what you both did," Reid said, his voice firm, unaffected by what she was saying, the power she was trying to take. "He'll be mentioned with you and you'll be known as a team of killers."

"But it's me they'll be fascinated with, isn't it? Because women don't kill. We're meant to give birth to life, not take it away, and not while we're sane and pretty," she said, twisting a lock of hair around her finger.

Reid stood up. He'd heard enough. There was no doubt that in the coming months, before and after her trial, she would be visited by various members of the BAU in an attempt to understand more, but right now her only agenda was to continue to try to torture. It would change, he knew, captivity would see to that. "You're not sane, Annabel," he said. "Far from it. Although I know you were completely aware of your actions and mentally competent, but your humanity has been eaten by your upbringing and biological factors."

"Is there nothing else you wanted to ask?" she said, sleepily. "Have you learnt everything there is to know about little ol' me?"

Reid shook his head. "No, but I have heard enough. And I have other things to do." He dismissed her importance, but it had little effect. She lay her head down on her right arm and smiled lazily, waving at him.

"Say hi to your girlfriend for me. And when you fuck her, I hope the images you see of me don't screw you up too much."

He walked out of the room, passed Hotch and the rest of the team, and opened the door to the snowy outdoors, needing to see some light.

* * *

Emily recognised the knock; two brief taps that were loud enough to demand immediate attention. She placed the pyjamas into the suitcase and went to open the door, not able to help the sudden increase in her heart rate. This wasn't a business call. As far as the team was concerned, business was over until tomorrow lunch when they would set off for Utah.

"Aaron," she said, holding the door open for him to come in. She closed the door after he had entered, not wanting Morgan or Rossi to notice her visitor should they happen to walk passed.

"How's your ankle?" he said, sitting down on the hastily made bed.

She nodded. "It's feeling better. Probably the pain killers. You're not going to ask me to stay at the BAU to rest it, are you?" She felt momentarily anxious. She didn't want to miss the case; she also didn't want to miss the time she would spend with her boss.

Hotch shook his head. "No. I was just hoping it was getting better." He looked up at her, and she felt another shot of worry that he was about to voice his regrets over any hints of feelings he'd mentioned.

She sat down next to him, pushing the suitcase out of the way. "Then what's eating you?" There was no point in pretending nothing was the matter.

"What are you doing tonight?" he said.

She knew she looked a little shocked.

"If I'm rushing you then..."

"No," she said. "No. Not at all. I was just going to go home and unpack and repack, maybe get a take out. You want to do something?" His eyes were lingering on her in a way that suggested he had already known her reaction.

"I thought we could get an early dinner when we returned," he said. "Haley's taken Jack to see relatives out of town." The latter part of the sentence was to answer her next question.

Emily glanced briefly at the floor, before allowing herself to make eye contact again. "How about we meet at that Thai take out you mentioned and I can get changed first? Do they have an eat-in part?"

"It's a room with plastic chairs and tables," Hotch said, his eyebrows raised. She knew he was wondering why she didn't want to go somewhere more upmarket.

"Then I can just change into my jeans after having a shower. And I think it's walkable from my apartment."

He nodded. "About seven then?" He stood up.

"Sounds good," she said, realising that a pile of her underwear was next to him on the bed, ready to be packed. At least it was clean.

"I'll see you in the car in twenty minutes then?" He walked to the door, looking at her with an intensity that was beginning to have an effect on several internal organs.

"I'll see you there," she said, unable to block the smile by biting her lips.

To Emily's surprise he smiled back before closing her door to, and leaving her to finish her packing.

* * *

_Thank you for reading, and as usual, let me know what you think. Lurkers – you've got this chapter and the next to delurk, and then I come after you with Strauss in a bad mood as my weapon :) _

_Sarah x_


	35. Chapter 35

_So, here we are, at the end – or is it the beginning?_

Calverville Point, South Dakota

'"Heroes know that things must happen when it is time for them to happen. A quest may not simply be abandoned; unicorns may go unrescued for a long time, but not forever; a happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story.'  
- Peter S. Beagle

Chapter 34 - Epilogue

They are one down on the plane; Rossi having decided to remain with Jolene for an extra night and make his own way to Utah the following day. JJ is sitting at the back with Will and Henry, the baby now fully recovered from the virus that has plagued him. He is on her knee, pulling at her hair, the take off having bothered him less than Reid, although as usual they have all pretended not to notice Reid's discomfort.

White clouds float pass them, carried by pockets of air, undeterminable by human intervention. Below them are the plains of South Dakota, the thick snow still there, blending the fields and trees into one white cover. After the thaw in spring, two more bodies will be found, unrelated to the cases that had now been solved. But for now, they sleep a dreamless, endless sleep under a duvet of frozen water.

There is little chatter on board the flight. The details of the next case have not yet been given out, Hotch having decided to wait until a briefing at noon the following day, giving his team some breathing space and time to clear their minds of Calverville Point. He is aware of the overload they are facing with one case after another, and with more requests for their help than ever it is becoming more difficult to say no. After this case, after Utah, they will have at least a week at the BAU, with time to catch up with paperwork and research. There are a few trips that needed to be undertaken to interview various killers, trips that don't involve the pressure of a case, and Hotch fully intends on his team undertaking a few of those.

He looks out of the window, into the endless skies, the tension leaving his shoulders. He will enjoy the moment, the brief moment, when he can relax into the chair and not have to step inside a killer's mind, remaining inside his own. A soft sheet of peace soothes his usually tense expression, and his eyes almost close.

Emily sits next to him, as she did on the flight to Calverville Point, but this time she has room to stretch her legs into the aisle as Hotch has taken the centre seat. Reid is facing her, his eyes focused on the chess board in between them. She is whipping his ass and enjoying it immensely. She is also enjoying having Aaron sitting next to her, his warmth reminds her of the life outside of this plane, away from the darkness in which they spend most of their life residing. His leg is pressed against hers, although she knows that no one else is aware of it. Emily is sure that the team have made some sort of pact to ignore what is going on between her and Hotch; no one, not even Garcia has asked her about last night and where they ate. In some ways she is grateful, it means they have some privacy, even if it's false privacy, but she would also like the chance to share things with JJ and Penelope.

Reid frowns, hesitating over which piece to move. His long fingers pause over the chess board, unsure, totally unsure. He is not that used to playing against Emily and he cannot predict her moves the way he can with other opponents. Yet she can still predict his.

"You want to quit?" she says, and Reid sees Hotch smile a little. Hotch knows that Reid will never quit unless he can see absolutely no way out.

"No," Reid says. "If I..." He chooses his move and is successful. Emily smiles at him, taking her turn rapidly. She had already spotted what he was going to do.

"I'd rather play against Gideon than you," Reid says, sitting back in the chair now, wanting to casually study the board. He knows that there is some form of physical contact going on between Emily and Hotch. They're trying to be discreet, but when you read people for a living, it's fairly difficult to not pick up on certain signs. It doesn't bother him, and in fact, he's happy about it. They needed a little sunshine in their lives. Reid thinks of Katie and the way she laughs. He knows he will miss her company, and the possibilities, but he understands that his job means he can't stick around in the way he might like. He could've stayed there tonight, like Rossi was doing, but that would make tomorrow harder.

"Why's that?" Emily says, smirking.

"Because he took less enjoyment in winning."

Morgan pulls out an ear pod and looks over at the game of chess and grins. Reid is getting his ass whipped. "Hey, boy wonder," he says, using Garcia's term for him. "You need some help over there?" Reid glares and Morgan chuckles.

"You know, hot stuff," Garcia says, looking up from her computer. "One day, he will be mocking you."

Morgan shakes his head. "That, baby girl, is never going to happen. What're you up to there?" She's been busy for a while, and at first he thought she was on another of her role playing sites, probably one that she had designed, but it looks more official and he'd seen a couple of emails as well.

"The woman – the elderly woman – Mrs Eunice Murs at Appletree," Garcia's words draw everyone's attention. "I've been looking into her background and her son who owns the house. He's in charge of her estate, in fact, it's her house but he's rented it out for years and taken the money from it. So I sent an email or several to his sister, a lady who lives in New York. She speaks to her mom a couple of times a week, and has been in contact with her brother to say that she thought their mom needed to go into a care home. Her brother's been assuring her that he's taking care of her. Anyhow, I shall cut a long story short by saying that daughter is now on way from New York and about to kick brother's butt. She's also a lawyer, so brother may find himself in a bit of bother as it appears he's been defrauding Mrs Murs out of her savings."

"Result," Emily says. She's now sat back in her seat, her focus no longer on the chess game, which isn't surprising, given this game's been going on for several flights. Her shoulder is next to Hotch's and they're sitting too close together to be simply friends.

Garcia stretches out her feet, putting them on Morgan's lap. He grins at her, knowing why she's put them there and begins kneading the soles of her feet, knowing which pressure points to work. "Some people should be given lessons and an exam in taking care of their own, and if they fail they should be taken out into the nearest desert and left to fend for themselves on their own. Let them find out what it's like having no one to look out for you," Garcia says, her shoulders slouching down further into the seat as Morgan works his magic.

Her words resonate in many ways, for some days could be a desert and they relied on the other members of their team to provide them with water. For a brief moment, a little silence falls while they contemplate what they have, there right now.

"You know," Morgan says, breaking the silence. "As much as I love you guys, I'll be quite happy seeing a different face tonight."

Garcia digs into his thigh with her heel and Emily throws a pen at him. Morgan ducks, and shields his face in an over dramatically manner.

"And which face will it be tonight?" Emily says. Hotch's eyes glance down at her as she speaks and the look doesn't go unnoticed, especially by JJ, who catches Emily's eye and raises her eyebrows ever-so-slightly.

"I have a date with Suzie," he says. "She was the lady I had to leave when we got the call to go to South Dakota."

"What's her surname?" Emily asks, her voice filled with cynicism.

Morgan shrugs. "She doesn't need one. So what are you doing tonight?" He looks at Emily.

Emily shrugs. "Getting take-out probably. Thai, I think."

"How about you Hotch?" Morgan says as Emily throws him daggers.

"That's funny," Hotch says, directing his gaze at Emily. "I was going to get Thai too." His voice is full of fake surprise, leaving the others in no doubt as to what their plans actually are.

"Really, Aaron? Maybe we're even going to the same place?" Emily says, her eyes containing a dancing flame.

Morgan is silenced, not expecting their reaction. He looks at JJ, then Garcia, and shrugs. "What are you up to tonight, mama?" he says to Garcia.

"Catching up with Kevin." There's a smile in her words. "It's been too long."

"I'm looking forward to a night in my own bed," JJ's voice is quiet but oozes with anticipation. "As soon as my head touches that pillow I am going to sleep like a fairy tale character."

"At least until the alarm goes off, or Henry wakes up, Cher," Will says, picking Henry up from her lap. She puts her head on his shoulder, her eyes already half closed, even though it's only the mid-afternoon.

The plane hits some turbulence and for a few seconds everyone is quiet, steadying themselves. They are used to this, and as the pilot requests that they put their safety belts on, they return to their activities, the conversation at a close for now.

Clouds pass by, the sun dimming in the sky, its day's journey drawing to a slow close. But like the sun, they know that their job, their purpose, is not over. It's just a mere pause until the next story begins.

* * *

_An alternative style, I know, but I wanted to do something a little different._

_The sequel shall begin sometime within the next week – I promise it will be up on or before December 22__nd__, so keep your eyes open or pop me on author alert. I want to get a couple of chapters written before I post the first one, and I think you can guess what the first chapter will focus on._

_So thank you for coming to Calverville Point with me, I do hope you enjoyed._

_**Thank you to my beta – Lily Moonlight!**_


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